


Necklace of Hope

by harrylacypanties



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 75th Hunger Games, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry, Fire, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Harry is from district 5, Hunger Games, Innocent Harry, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Louis is from district 13, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rebel Louis Tomlinson, Rebellion, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 56,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrylacypanties/pseuds/harrylacypanties
Summary: "Wear a necklace of hopeSide by side with me"The one where Harry is the victor of the 73th Hunger Games and Louis is a rebel in district 13. At the 75th edition of the games, Harry is force to go back in the arena with all the other victors.





	1. Blood or Rain?

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the announcer of the Hunger Games, echoes in my ears. I don't have a lot of time to think. Sixty seconds. That's how long we're required to stand on our metal circles before the sound of a gong releases us. Step off before the minute is up, and land mines blow your legs off. Sixty seconds to take in the ring of tributes all equidistant from the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved tail, the mouth of which is at least twenty feet high, spilling over with the things that will give us life here in the arena. Food, containers of water, weapons, medicine, garments, fire starters.

But this year is special. It is the 75th edition of the hunger games and since this is a Quarter Quell, an extra twist is introduced. In this case, to remind all the districts that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the Capitol, each district reaped their tributes from their existing pool of victors. Since I am the only victor still alive in district 5, they chose me as tribute.

In the cornucopia it seems like there is only weapons. No foods and no water. Just weapons.

I look around. Blue waters. A pink sky. A white-hot sun above my head. I see the Cornucopia about forty meters away. I can't stay. I need to run as fast as I can and get away from this   
murder scene.

It was different from my first game. In my first game I could hide until everyone was dead but this year everyone know how to fight. Also, the arena seems to be a bit smaller and everything seems more scary. Beyond the water, wherever you look, a narrow beach and then dense greenery.

I hear the instructions from Darius in my head. "Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water."

At the gong, I dive to my left without hesitation.I'm not a really good swimmer so I'm not really fast. It's a longer distance than I'm used to, and navigating the waves is more difficult then swimming in some quiet water.

I pull myself, dripping, onto the land strip and sprint toward the beach. Where the sand ends, woods begin to rise sharply. Not some normal woods that I'm use to see. It look more like a jungle. Most of the trees are unfamiliar, with smooth trunks and few branches. The earth is very black and spongy underfoot, often obscured by tangles of vines with colorful blossoms. While the sun's hot and bright, the air's warm and heavy with moisture.

At the edge of the jungle I turn for one instant to survey the beach and the cornucopia. A lot of tributes are hacking away at one another at the horn. I see Katniss and Finnick at the cornucopia with their weapons already fighting with the others tributes. Those who have taken flight are disappearing into the trees.

I continue running until the woods have hidden me from the other tributes. I still don't understand why I'm here.

I can hear other footsteps approaching.   
"Harry Styles the baby of the game."

I turn around and see Johanna Mason, the girl from district 7. She won her first game by very convincingly portraying herself as weak and helpless so that she would be ignored. Then she demonstrated a wicked ability to murder. The guy beside her smirks at me.

I've seen them in training. They never misse. And I'm their next target.   
All the general fear I've been feeling condenses into at immediate fear of them, these predators who might kill me in seconds.

"Relax, we want you as an ally."

"Me? I can't even fight and I don't have any weapons."

The guy looks at me. It's the male tribute from district 7 and I think that his name is Blight.

"You can't fight but you're smart. We saw you in your first game."

Johanna gives me a knife and says, "It's not a lot but at least you have something."

I know that she has a plan. She doesn't want me as an ally for nothing. She wants something in return.

"Do you have a plan?" I ask.

"We have to find nuts and volts first and after we will get katniss." Johanna finishes explaining.

Why does they want to find her. She's dangerous and she's not alone.

"Who's Nuts and Volts and why do we have to find her? She's dangerous and I don't think it's a good idea."

Johanna and Blight look at each other and start laughing. "Katniss Everdeen is not dangerous."

They stop laughing before saying, "Nuts and Volts are Wiress and Beetee. We have to find them. Do you have any suggestions?"

"I think we should keep moving. We need water," I suggest.

So far there's been no sign of a freshwater stream or pond, and the saltwater's undrinkable.

"Better find some soon," says Blight.

The absence of water intensifies my thirst. I keep a sharp eye out as we continue our trek upward, but with no luck.

We move stealthily through the trees, but we find nothing except more lush, green plant life.

The sound of the cannon brings us to a halt. The initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia must be over. The death toll of the tributes is now available. I count the shots, each representing one dead victor. Eight. Not as many as the other years. But it seems like more since I know most of their names.

-

After a while we finally decide to stop and rest. I don't think it's a good idea to rest before finding some water but I'm too tired and dehydrated to protest. What I want most, right at this moment, is water.  
We won't last long without it. For a few days, we'll be able to function with unpleasant symptoms of dehydration, but after that we'll deteriorate into helplessness and be dead in a week.

I become aware of the dryness in my throat and mouth, the cracks in my lips. I've been moving all day long. It's been hot and I've sweat a lot.

Blight gets up suddenly and says, "You guys are both in bad shape right now. I'll go find Wiress and Beetee and I'll keep my eyes open for some water."

I close my eyes and sigh. The white sun sinks in the rosy sky as I start eating some nuts that I find. I spend a lot of time at the edible-plants station in training and I think it helps me a lot.

The sun slips below the horizon, a pale white moon rises, making things just visible enough.

"I won't last long without water. Better prepare my wooden box for when I'll be sent back dead in my district." I tell Johanna.

"You are not going to die here."

"I don't have any chance to win." I say.

"Stay with us and we'll protect you."

The sky brightens when the seal of the Capitol appears as if floating in space. Seeing the faces of the eight dead victors projected into the sky turns out to be really difficult for me and Johanna. At home, we would be watching full coverage of each and every killing, but that's thought to give an unfair advantage to the living tributes. No, here in the arena, all we see are the same photographs they showed when they televised our training scores. Simple head shots. But now instead of scores they post only district numbers.

The Capitol seal is back with a final bit of music and then the sky goes dark except for the moon.

We hear footsteps approaching. It seems like someone is limping. Johanna suddenly stands up ready to attack with her ax in her hand.

We sigh with relief when we see who the person is. It's just Blight, Wiress and Beetee.

Blight has a big cut on his thigh. We help him sit down and I decide to examine his wound. The cut was really deep and it was bleeding a lot.

"We need to stop the bleeding." I suggest.

Beetee approaches Blight and examines the cut, "We have nothing to stop it."

I pull off some moss and tightly bandage his leg. "I think this will work for a while."

We sit down again while I continue eating some nuts.

-  
I find myself jarred from sleep a few hours later by what seems to be the tolling of a bell.  
"I counted twelve," Johanna says.

I nod. Twelve. What does that signify? One ring for each district? Maybe. But why?

"Mean anything, do you think?"

"No idea," She says

Suddenly, Dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree and then a lightning storm begins. I guess it's an indication of rain. We might get some water by the end of the night.

After an hour or so, the lightning stops. I start to feel some drops of water dripping on my forehead. As I open my mouth to be able to drink a little I realize that it is not water.

It is blood. Thick, hot blood. A sickeningly odor begins to invade my nostrils and I reach for the others, shouting for them to get up.

"Run!" I scream with difficulty at the others. The blood stifles me every time I try to open my mouth. "Run!"

Johanna wake up instantly, rising to counter an enemy. But when she feels the blood on her skin, she covers her mouth with her hand. We start to run while trying to cover our mouth, our nose and our eyes.

There's a sharp zapping sound. Then Blight's flung back from the force field, bringing Johanna and Wiress to the ground.

They get up easily and Johanna and I gently lifts up Blight and carries him the last few yards to the beach while Beetee and Wiress continue to run.

Once we arrive at the beach, we caries him into the water , then the hovercraft appears and a four-pronged claw drops, encases him, carries him into the night sky, and he's gone.

We sit in the sand in silence for a while. Beetee stays at the edge of the jungle with Wiress. I think she's in some kind of state of shock or maybe she's traumatized.

These games are terrifying. It's only been a day and I'm dehydrating fast. I try and think of everything I know about finding water. My head is aching, and there's a dry patch on my tongue that refuses to moisten.


	2. The clock

"Finnick!" Johanna screams while waking me up.

I get up and look at who she's screaming at.

The guy that Johanna was screaming at and two other person start running toward us. "Johanna!" He screams back.

Once they reach us I can see that it's in fact Finnick, Katniss and Peeta. Johanna starts talking to them very fast.

"We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field."

"I'm sorry, Johanna," says Finnick.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't much, but he was from home," she says. "And he left me alone with these three." She nudges me. "Blight also got a knife in the leg at the Cornucopia, Harry was here to help him. And Wiress—"

We all look over at Wiress, who's circling around, coated in dried blood, and murmuring,   
"Tick, tock. Tick, tock."

"Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock," says Johanna.

This seems to draw Wiress in her direction and she careens into Johanna, who harshly shoves her to the beach. "Just stay down, will you?"

"Lay off her," Katniss snaps.

Johanna narrows her brown eyes at her in hatred. "Lay off her?" she hisses. She steps forward before Katniss can react and slaps her so hard that I'm sure she can see stars.

"Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—"

Finnick tosses her writhing body over his shoulder and carries her out into the water and repeatedly dunks her while she screams a lot of really insulting things at Katniss.

She turns to Peeta and ask, "What did she mean? She got them for me? I can't protect them. I can't protect this kid."

I blush immediately at what she says. I'm not that much younger than she is but it's true that everybody consider me as a child because I won the hunger games when I was fourteen years old. They always call me the Baby of the games or the innocent one.

"Harry isn't a kid and I don't know. You did want them originally," he reminds her.

Katniss sighs and turns to me. "Drink some water. We have some."

I nod and watch her takes Wiress by the hand while I walk toward their little beach camp.

Peeta sits beside me and hands me some kind of a homemade bowl with some water in it.

"Slowly, easy now." He tells me.

I take one swallow and make myself wait. Then another.

"I'm sorry about what she said. She knows you're not a kid." He says.

I take another swallow and say, "I understand. I mean, she's here to win."

"I don't think that she wants to win."

"You're sure about that?" I ask.

"Yeah."

Johanna joins us and gulps water and stuffs herself with shellfish for a while. Finnick tells us about the fog and the monkeys in a detached, almost clinical voice.

The sun rises in the sky until it's directly over us. It must be noon, I think absently. Not that it matters. Across the water, off to the right, I see the enormous flash as the lightning bolt hits the tree and the electrical storm begins again. Right in the same area it did last night.

I sit for a while watching the lightning. I think of last night, how the lightning began just after the bell tolled. Twelve bongs.

Everybody offers to guard while the others rest, but in the end, it's Johanna and Katniss who stay up. Katniss because she's really rested, Johanna because she simply refuses to lie down.

-

"Get up," Katniss orders, shaking me and the rest of the group awake.

"Get up we have to move."

I look around but everything seems to be normal.

She seems to sees my confusion and says, "It's a clock. The arena is a clock. Each hour begins a new horror, a new Gamemaker weapon, and ends the previous. Lightning, blood rain, fog, monkeys those are the first four hours on the clock. And at ten, the wave. I don't know what happens in the other seven, but I know Wiress is right. At present, the blood rain's is falling and we're on the beach below the monkey's segment, far too close to the fog for my liking. That's why we have to move. "

She tells us about Wiress's tick-tocking and how the movements of the invisible hands trigger a deadly force in each section.

Wiress nods at the blood rain. "One-thirty," she says.

"Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there," Katnss says, pointing at the nearby jungle. "So we have to move somewhere safe now."

We all agree that it's better to be safe than sorry.

When I try to help Beetee get up, he objects. "Harry, where's the wire," he says.

"She's right here," I tell him. "Wiress is fine. She's coming, too."   
But still Beetee struggles. "Wire," he insists.

"Oh, I know what he wants," says Johanna impatiently. She crosses the beach and picks up the cylinder. "This worthless thing. It's some kind of wire or something. He got this at the Cornucopia. I don't know what kind of weapon it's supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?"

"He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap," I says. "It's the best weapon he could have."

We finally decide to go to the cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we're right about the clock thing.

We walk down the nearest sand strip, approaching the Cornucopia with care, just in case the Careers are concealed there. I doubt they are, because we've been on the beach for hours and there's been no sign of life.

The area's abandoned, as we expected. Only the big golden horn and the picked-over pile of weapons remain.

Wiress nods and scampers over to the water's edge, where she dunks the coil in the water. She starts quietly singing some funny little song, about a mouse running up a clock. It must be for children, but it seems to make her happy.

Suddenly Wiress stands up very straight and points to the jungle. "Two," she says.

I follow her finger to where the wall of fog has just begun to seep out onto the beach. "Yes, look, She's right. It's two o'clock and the fog has started. You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress."

Wiress smiles and goes back to singing and dunking her coil.

"Oh, she's more than smart," says Beetee. "She's intuitive."

I turn to look at Beetee. "She can sense things before anyone else." He continues.

I decide to sit down for a bit in the cornucopia while the others start messing with weapons.

After a while, Johanna comes beside me and sits. "What's wrong?"She asks.

"I miss them. "

"Who?"

"My family. I wish I could talk to them. Just one last time. Give a hug and tell them that I'm sorry."

She frowns. "Sorry for what?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry that my mom have to deal with this. Sorry that I'm not strong enough to win these games."

"Don't apologize for the things that you can't control. It's the Capitol's fault. Not yours."

I notice the silence. Wiress, stopped singing. I look around and discover a dripping Gloss, the tribute from district 1 that leaves Wiress slipping on the ground, the throat sliced into a scarlet smile.

The tip of Katniss' arrow disappears into Gloss' left temple. Finnick diverts the spear that Brutus had thrown at Peeta and receives Enobaria's knife in his thigh.

Johanna looks at me and says, "Go hide yourself in the cornucopia. I'll protect you."

I nod and search for something to hide myself. I find a metal container and hide behind it but a knife comes whizzing in on my right. I try to look at who launched it when the second knife catches me in the forehead. It slices above my right eyebrow, opening a gash that sends a gush running down my face, blinding my eye, filling my mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of my own blood. I stagger backward and I see Johanna planting her ax in Cashmere's chest.

Suddenly, the ground starts to move under my feet and throws me on the side. The sand disk on which the cornucopia rests turns, more and more quickly, and I see the jungle scroll so quickly that my sight become blurry. I take a knife and plant it in the ground to grab at it so I don't fall.

The sand that flies in all directions forces me to close my eyes.

And then, suddenly, without the slightest deceleration, the ground stops turning. Nauseous, sand full of mouth, I get up slowly to find that my companions are in the same state as me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> So as you can tell, this story is a mix between  
> the book, the movie and my head.   
> I hope you like my story so far and don't forget   
> to leave a comment if you like.   
> I can't wait to start writing the Larry part.  
> I'll see you guys in the next chapter.  
> Ari xxx


	3. Jabberjay

I look at Wiress, she's floating on her back, borne up by her belt and death, staring into that relentless sun.

I look at the others' sober faces. Now Finnick, Johanna, and Beetee have all lost their district partners.

"Let's get off this stinking island," Johanna says finally.

My hands go to my head and then drop to my lap, slick with blood.

Finnick looks at my wound. "we'll put some moss on this.You're bleeding quite a lot."

We decide to head to the beach at twelve o'clock.

"Twelve o'clock, right?" says Peeta. "The tail points at twelve."

We circle around the Cornucopia, scrutinizing the jungle. It has a baffling uniformity. We remember the tall tree that took the first lightning strike at twelve o'clock, but every sector has a similar tree. Johanna thinks to follow Enobaria's and Brutus's tracks, but they have been blown or washed away. There's no way to tell where anything is.

"I should have never mentioned the clock," Katniss says bitterly. "Now they've taken that advantage away as well."

"Only temporarily," says Beetee. "At ten, we'll see the wave again and be back on track.

"Yes, they can't redesign the whole arena," I say.

"Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?"says Johanna impatiently.

We randomly choose a path and take it, having no idea what number we're headed for. When we reach the jungle, we peer into it, trying to decipher what may be waiting inside.

I sit down while Finnick tries to stop the bleeding of my wound.

"You're okay?" He asks me.

"Yeah. Just a little dizzy but I'll be okay."

"I can carrie you if you don't feel good." He suggests.

"I'm not a baby. I can walk by myself."

"Harry it's not about being a baby." He says and turns to Katniss. "Katniss do you have the spile for the water?" Finnick asks.

She cut the vine that ties the spile to her belt and hold the metal tube out to him.

That's when I hear the scream. So full of fear and pain it ices my blood. And so familiar. I get up, forget about my cut and where I am or what lies ahead, only know I must reach her.

I run wildly in the direction of the voice, heedless of danger, ripping through vines and branches, through anything that keeps me from reaching her. From reaching Gemma.

Where is she? What are they doing to her? "Gemma!" I cry out. "Gemma!" Only another agonized scream answers me. How did she get here? Why is she part of the Games? "Gemma!"

Vines cut into my face and arms, creepers grab my feet. But I am getting closer to her. Closer. Very close now. Sweat and blood pours down my face. I pant, trying to get some use out of the warm, moist air that seems empty of oxygen. I can't even imagine what they have done to evoke all of this.

"Gemma!" I rip through a wall of green into a small clearing and the sound repeats directly above me. Above me? My head whips back. Do they have her up in the trees? I desperately search the branches but see nothing. "Gemma?" I say pleadingly. I hear her but can't see her. Her next wail rings out, clear as a bell, and there's no mistaking the source. It's coming from the mouth of a small, crested black bird perched on a branch about ten feet over my head. And then I understand.

It's a jabberjay.

There is nothing about the bird that suggests it's a mutt. Nothing except the horribly lifelike sounds of Gemma's voice streaming from its mouth.

It's not real, I tell myself. It's just a sadistic trick of the Gamemakers.

Katniss crashes into the clearing to find. "Harry?"

"It's okay. I'm okay," I say, although I don't feel okay at all. "I thought I heard my sister but—" The piercing shriek cuts me off. It's another voice, not Gemma's, maybe a little girl. I don't recognize it. But the effect on Katniss instantaneous. The color vanishes from her face and I can actually see her pupils dilate in fear. "Katniss, wait!" I say, reaching out to reassure her, but she's bolted away. Gone off in pursuit of the victim, as mindlessly as I pursued Gemma. "Katniss!" I call, but I know she won't turn back and wait for me to give a rational explanation. So all I can do is follow her.

She finaly stops and silences it with an arrow in its throat. It falls straight down, landing right at her feet. She picks it up.

when I slide down to join her, she looks more despairing than ever.

"It's all right, Katniss. It's just a jabberjay. They're playing a trick on us," I say. "It's not real."

"No, it's not Prim. But the voice was hers. Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Harry?" She says.

I can feel my own cheeks grow pale as I understand her meaning. "Oh, Katniss, you don't think they ..."

"Yes. I do. That's exactly what I think," She says.

Somewhere they are torturing her, or did torture her, to get those sounds. My knees turn to water and I sink to the ground. Katniss is trying to tell me something, but I can't hear her. What I do finally hear is another bird starting up somewhere off to my left. And this time, the voice is my mom's voice.

Katniss catches my arm before I can run. "No. It's not her." She starts pulling me downhill, toward the beach. "We're getting out of here!" But my mom's voice is so full of pain I can't help struggling to reach it. "It's not her, Harry! It's a mutt!" Katniss shouts at me. "Come on!" She moves me along, half dragging, half carrying me, until I can process what she said. She's right, it's just another jabberjay. I can't help my mom by chasing it down. But that doesn't change the fact that it is her voice, and somewhere, sometime, someone has made her sound like this.

I catch sight of Peeta and Johanna standing at the tree line. They hangs back, their hands raised, palms toward us, lips moving but no words reaching us. Why?,

The wall is so transparent, Katniss and I run smack into it and bounce back onto the jungle floor. I'm lucky. My shoulder took the worst of the impact, whereas Katniss hit face-first and now her nose is gushing blood.

Then the birds begin to arrive. One by one. Perching in the surrounding branches. And a carefully orchestrated chorus of horror begins to spill out of their mouths. Katniss gives up at once, hunching on the ground, clenching her hands over her ears as if she's trying to crush her skull. I curl up beside Katniss, trying to block out the excruciating sounds of my mom and Gemma.

I know it's stopped when I feel Finnick's hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Finnick holds me while Johanna speaks soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

"It's all right, Harry," Finnick whispers.

"You didn't hear them," I answer.

"We heard her. Right in the beginning. But it wasn't her," Johanna says. "It was a jabberjay."

"It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it," I say.

"No, that's what they want you to think. That wasn't their voices. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying," he says.

"Do you believe it Katniss?" I ask.

"It could be true. I don't know," She says. "Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it ..."

"Oh, yes. It's not even that difficult, Katniss. Our children learn a similar technique in school," says Beetee.

Johanna smiles at me and turns to Katniss, "And of course, they wouldn't dare to kill Katniss' sister. The whole country adores Katniss's little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands," says Johanna flatly. "Don't want that, do they?" She throws back her head and shouts, "Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!" 

She picks up some shells and heads toward the jungle. "I'm getting water," she says.

I can't help catching her hand as she passes me. "Don't go in there. The birds—" I remember the birds must be gone, but I still don't want anyone in there.

"They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love," Johanna says, and frees her hand with an impatient shake. When she brings me back a shell of water, I take it with a silent nod of thanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,  
> This chapter is quite shitty.  
> Anyway the Larry part will start   
> in three chapter.  
> I hope you like it so far  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	4. A plan

A cannon blast brings us all together on the beach. A hovercraft appears in what we estimate to be the six-to-seven-o'clock zone. We watch as the claw dips down five different times to retrieve the pieces of one body, torn apart. It's impossible to tell who it was. Whatever happens at six o'clock, I never want to know.

-

I sit at the edge of the water, watching the sun drop below the horizon. The bright moon is already on the rise, filling the arena with that strange twilight. We're about to settle down to our meal of raw fish when the anthem begins. And then the faces ...

Cashmere. Gloss. Wiress. Mags. The woman from District 5 and 8. Blight. The man from 10.

Eight dead. Plus eight from the first night.That must be some kind of record.

"Who's left? Besides us six and District Two?" asks Finnick.

"Chaff," says Peeta.

I don't know how Johanna's still on her feet. She's only had about an hour of sleep since the Games started. Peeta and Katniss volunteer for the first watch because They're better rested, and because they want some time alone. Me and the others go out immediately, although my sleep is restless.

-

When I wake, everyone's already up and watching the descent of a parachute to the beach. I join them for a delivery of bread. We each take five, leaving eight in reserve.

I wash myself into the salt water before getting call over by Beetee.   
It turns out that during all those hours of fiddling with wire, he has indeed come up with a plan. "I think we'll all agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he says mildly. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work."

"Do you think they've figured out about the clock?" I ask.

"If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock," says Beetee. "So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."

"Wait, let me get Johanna up," says Finnick. "She'll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important."

When she's joined us, Beetee shoos us all back a bit so he can have room to work in the sand. He swiftly draws a circle and divides it into twelve wedges. It's the arena, not rendered in precise strokes but in the rough lines of a man whose mind is occupied by other, far more complex things. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" Beetee asks.

"Where we are now. On the beach," I say. "It's the safest place."

"So why aren't they on the beach?" says Beetee.

"Because we're here," says Johanna impatiently.

"Exactly. We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?" says Beetee.

"I'd hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us." Says Katniss.

"Also to eat," I say. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe."

Beetee smiles at us as if we've exceeded his expectations. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?"

"The lightning bolt hits the tree," I say.

"Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that moment will be electrocuted," says Beetee.

"Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up." Peeta asks.

"Oh, it will. But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it," says Beetee.

"How do you know?"I ask.

"Because I invented it," says Beetee, as if slightly surprised. "It's not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," She says.

"Don't worry about the wire, it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us.

"And where will we be when this happens?" asks Finnick.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe," Beetee replies.

"The Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they're in the vicinity of the water," I point out.

"That's right," says Beetee.

"But all the seafood will be cooked," says Peeta.

"Probably more than cooked," says Beetee. "We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?"

"Yes. Nuts and rats," She say. "And we have sponsors."

"Well, then. I don't see that as a problem," says Beetee. "But as we are allies and this will require all our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you five."

"Why not?" I say. "If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too."

"I say we try it," says Peeta. "Harry is right."

Finnick looks at Johanna and raises his eyebrows. He will not go forward with

"All right," she says finally.

We all look at Katniss ."It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves."

Beetee wants to inspect the lightning tree before he has to rig it. Judging by the sun, it's about nine in the morning. We have to leave our beach soon, anyway. So we break camp, walk over to the beach that borders the lightning section, and head into the jungle. We let Johanna lead.

The dense, muggy air weighs on me. There's been no break from it since the Games began.

The lightning tree's unmistakable as it towers so high above the others. Katniss finds a bunch of nuts and makes everybody wait while she moves slowly up the slope, tossing the nuts ahead of her. But we see the force field almost immediately, even before a nut hits it, because it's only about fifteen yards away. My eyes catch sight of the rippled square high up and to my right. Katniss throw a nut directly in front of her and hear it sizzle in confirmation.

"Just stay below the lightning tree," She tells the others.

We divide up duties. Finnick and Johanna guard Beetee while he examines the tree, I tap for water, Peeta gathers nuts, and Katniss hunt nearby.

At one point Beetee snaps off a sliver of bark, joins us, and throws it against the force field. It bounces back and lands on the ground, glowing. In a few moments it returns to its original color. "Well, that explains a lot," says Beetee.

I look at Johanna and can't help biting my lip to keep from laughing since it explains absolutely nothing to anyone but Beetee.

About this time we hear the sound of clicks rising from the sector adjacent to us. That means it's eleven o'clock. It's far louder in the jungle than it was on the beach last night. We all listen intently.

"It's not mechanical," Beetee says decidedly.

"I'd guess insects," I say. "Maybe beetles."

"Something with pincers," adds Finnick.

The sound swells, as if alerted by our quiet words to the proximity of live flesh.

"We should get out of here, anyway," says Johanna. "There's less than an hour before the lightning starts."

We don't go that far, though. Only to the identical tree in the blood-rain section. We have a picnic of sorts, squatting on the ground, eating our jungle food, waiting for the bolt that signals noon.

When the lightning strikes, it's dazzling, even from here, even in this bright sunlight. It completely encompasses the distant tree, making it glow a hot blue-white and causing the surrounding air to crackle with electricity. I swing down and report my findings to Beetee, who seems satisfied, even if I'm not terribly scientific.

We take a circuitous route back to the ten . The sand is smooth and damp, swept clean by the recent wave. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off while he works with the wire. Since it's his weapon and the rest of us have to defer to his knowledge so entirely.

Johanna keeps watch while Finnick, Peeta, Katniss and I clean and lay out some seafood. Peeta's just pried open an oyster when we hear him give a laugh. "Hey, look at this!" He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," he says earnestly to us.

"No, it doesn't," I say dismissively.

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to Katniss. "For you."

The salty fish flesh, the succulent shellfish. Even the oysters seem tasty. We gorge ourselves until no one can hold another bite, and even then there are leftovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	5. Destruction

The anthem begins, but there are no faces in the sky tonight. The audience will be restless, thirsting for blood. Beetee's trap holds enough promise, though, that the Gamemakers haven't sent in other attacks. Perhaps they are simply curious to see if it will work.

At what Finnick and I judge to be about nine, we leave our shell-strewn camp, cross to the twelve o'clock beach, and begin to quietly hike up to the lightning tree in the light of the moon.

Beetee asks Finnick to assist him, and the rest of us stand guard. Before he even attaches any wire to the tree, Beetee unrolls yards and yards of the stuff. He has Finnick secure it tightly around a broken branch and lay it on the ground. Then they stand on either side of the tree, passing the spool back and forth as they wrap the wire around and around the trunk. At first it seems arbitrary, then I see a pattern, like an intricate maze, appearing in the moonlight on Beetee's side.

The work on the trunk's completed just as we hear the wave begin. I've never really worked out at what point in the ten o'clock hour it erupts. There must be some buildup, then the wave itself, then the aftermath of the flooding. But the sky tells me ten-thirty.

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna, Katniss and I to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o'clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

I turn to Johanna and Katniss. "Ready?"

"Why not?" says Johanna with a shrug.

"We guard, and Harry unwind. We can trade off later." Katniss says.

Beetee hands me the coil and without further discussion, we head down the slope. In fact there's very little discussion between us at all. We move at a pretty good clip, one manning the coil, the others keeping watch. About halfway down, we hear the clicking beginning to rise, indicating it's after eleven.

"Better hurry," Johanna says. "I want to put a lot of distance between me and that water before the lightning hits. Just in case Volts miscalculated something."

"I'll take the coil for a while," Johanna says.

"Here," I say, passing her the coil. Both of our hands are still on the metal cylinder when there's a slight vibration. Suddenly the thin golden wire from above springs down at us, bunching in tangled loops and curls around our wrists. Then the severed end snakes up to our feet.

It only takes a second to register this rapid turn of events. Someone not far above us has cut the wire. And they will be on us at any moment.

My hand frees itself from the wire when the metal cylinder smashes into the side of my head. The next thing I know, I'm lying on my back in the vines, a terrible pain in my left temple and Katniss is lying down on her side beside me. Something's wrong with my eyes. My vision blurs in and out of focus as I strain to make the two moons floating up in the sky into one. It's hard to breathe.

I hear Katniss screams and then there's a stab in my left forearm. Johanna's digging something, I guess the point of her knife, into my flesh, twisting it around. There's an excruciating ripping sensation and warmth runs down my wrist, filling my palm. She swipes down my arm and coats half my face with my blood.

"You two have to stay down!" she hisses.

Footsteps coming. Two pairs. Heavy, not trying to conceal their whereabouts. Brutus's voice. "They're good as dead! Come on, Enobaria!" Feet moving into the night.

I drift in and out of consciousness when I feel Katniss moving beside me. "Harry!" She tries to say. "We need to move."

I squeeze my eyes shut and cling to the tree until things steady a little. Then we take a few careful steps to a neighboring tree, pull off some moss, and without examining the wound further, tightly bandage our damaged arm.

Then I allow my hand to tentatively touch my head. There's a huge lump and a lot of blood.

Katniss dries her hands on moss and get a shaky grip on her bow with her damaged left arm. Secures the notch of an arrow to the string. We make our feet move up the slope.

I hear someone running down the slope toward us. We duck behind a curtain of vines, concealing myself just in time. Finnick flies by us, his skin shadowy with medicine, leaping through the undergrowth like a deer. He soon reaches the sight of my attack, must see the blood.

"Johanna! Katniss! Harry!" he calls.

Katniss tells me to stay put until he goes in the direction Johanna and the Careers took.

She nods at me and we move as quickly as we can without sending the world into a whirl.

The boom of a cannon pulls me up short. Someone has died. I know that with everyone running around armed and scared right now, it could be anybody. But whoever it is, I believe the death will trigger a kind of free-for-all out here in the night. People will kill first and wonder about their motives later. I force my legs into a run.

Suddenly, Katniss fells on the ground. Beetee's wire is wraps around her leg. I untangle her leg and she steps out of its reach, and we continue uphill.

The tree swims into view, its trunk festooned with gold. We slow down, try to move with some stealth. We look for a sign of the others. No one. No one is there.

This is when I notice the knife on the ground, the one that Peeta was carrying earlier, I think, which is wrapped loosely in wire.

Perplexed, Katniss lifts the wire, confirming it's attached back at the tree.

We squint hard up the hill and realize we're only a few paces from the force field.

My knees start to give out and I sink down. I lay my head on the ground and close my eyes. I'm losing too much blood.

Katniss lifts her bow and arrow into position when Enobaria and Finnick reach the lightning tree. 

Another cannon.

She takes the knife and slides the wire from the hilt, winds it around the arrow just above the feathers, and secures it with a knot.

I don't know what's she's doing. The only thing I know is that I'll be dead in the next three seconds.

She rises, turning to the force field. Her bow tilts up at the wavering square. She lets the arrow fly, sees it hit its mark and vanish, pulling the thread of gold behind it.

Suddenly, the lightning strikes the tree.

A flash of white runs up the wire, and for just a moment, the dome bursts into a dazzling blue light. We're thrown backward to the ground, body useless, paralyzed, eyes frozen wide, as feathery bits of matter rain down on me.

Everything seems to erupt at once. The earth explodes into showers of dirt and plant matter. Trees burst into flames. Even the sky fills with brightly colored blossoms of light. I can't think why the sky's being bombed until I realize the Gamemakers are shooting off fireworks up there, while the real destruction occurs on the ground.

The hovercraft materializes above me without warning. My ears could never make out anything so delicate in this bombardment.

My thoughts grow foggy before I black out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Louis is coming in the next chapter.  
> Ari xxx


	6. ceasefire

When I wake, I push myself to a sitting position. My left arm is bandaged and my head is heavy. I look around and realize that I'm in some kind of sterile hospital room . And then I remember, the explosions, the arena, Katniss's arrow.

The white curtain beside the bed abruptly opens, and I find myself facing two strangers. One middle-aged man and a guy that looks a lottle bit older then me. "Where am I?"

The younger one sits beside me on the bed. "Harry, this is Haymitch and I'm Louis Tomlinson."

"Where are we?" I repeat.

The middle-aged man takes a chair and sits in front of the bed. "Harry, I'm going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I'm through. Do you understand?"

I nod numbly. And this is what he tells me.

There was a plan to break us out of the arena from the moment the Quell was announced. The victor tributes from 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 11 had varying degrees of knowledge about it. Plutarch Heavensbee, the head gamemaker, has been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol. He made sure the wire was among the weapons. Beetee was in charge of blowing a hole in the force field.   
We are currently in District 13. Meanwhile, most of the districts in Panem are in full-scale rebellion.

Haymitch stops to see if I am following. Or maybe he is done for the moment.

"Nobody told me about all of this" I say.

"Plutarch was sure that you were going to die during the first day but Johanna decided te keep you alive."

"No, Johanna tried to kill Katniss and I." I say.

"Johanna knocked you and Katniss out to cut the tracker from your arms and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from Katniss." says Haymitch.

"What?" My head aches so and I want them to stop talking in circles. "I don't know what you're—"

"We had to save her because She's the mockingjay," says Louis. "While she live, the revolution lives."

"The others were picked up by the Capitol."

"Who's the others?" I ask confuse.

"Johanna along with Peeta and Enobaria."

"My family?" I gasp.

"Your sister is alive. So is your mother." Haymitch says. "I have to leave. President Coin want to see me."

"Still a little sore?" The blue-eyed guy ask and with an expert hand, he detaches the morphling drip from my arm.

"My head hurts." I say

"It's normal. You lost a lot of blood."

"Are you a doctor?" I ask.

"No I'm just working with president Coin. " He says. "The doctor told us that In the week since you left the arena, you've gained some weight back. If you feel good you could start working with us." He smiles at me and my heart melts.

I can endure any pain as long as I see him smiling.

-

A week later, I can finally get out of this hospital. It means that every morning, I have to get a temporary tattoo on the underside of my arm that shows my daily schedule. It displays, in 24-hour time, where to be and what activities are to be performed at specific times. Certain activities- such as meals - are scheduled regularly every day. After a certain time, the ink will breaks down and I will be able to wash it for the following day.

On the surface there is no trace of the district 13. I always thought that there was only twelve district because I thought that it has been destroyed during the war between the Capitol and the districts. However it wasn't .

This district consists only of underground buildings. That's why the capitol doesn't know the existence of the thirteen.

Their habitants live exclusively underground. You can go outside for exercise and sunlight but only at very specific times in your schedule. You can't miss your schedule.

Since i'm not in the hospital anymore they assigne me to compartment 316.

I go to the refectory for 6:30 pm: Dinner when Louis, the guy that was at the hospital stops me, "You have to go to the Command." he tells me.

I linger for a moment on the doorstep of the Command Center, the large, tech-filled meeting room with its informative computer walls, its electronic maps showing the troop movements in the different districts and its giant rectangular table with innumerable buttons that I am not able to touch.

Nobody pays attention to me, because they are all gathered in front of a television screen at the back of the room where the broadcasts of the Capitol are playing continuously. I see Finnick, Katniss and her friend Gale entering the room. I begin to believe that I will be able to escape when Plutarch, whose imposing silhouette hid me from the screen, sees us and beckons us to join them. We move forward reluctantly, wondering why it is supposed to interest us. We always see the same sequences. Pictures of the war. Propaganda scenes. Repetitions of the bombing of District Twelve. A threatening message from President Snow.  
So much so that I'm looking forward to seeing Caesar Flickerman, the indomitable Hunger Games presenter, with his painted face and shiny suit, getting ready to interview a guest. Until the camera rotates, and we all discover it is Peeta.

We hear Katniss letting out a little cry, halfway between the sigh and the strangled moan of someone drowning.

Caesar settles more comfortably in his chair and stares at Peeta who sits in front of him.

"Well, Peeta ... it's good to see you again."  
Peeta gives him a thin smile.

"I bet you thought you did your last  
interview with me, Caesar."

I turn around and see Louis who's taking note while watching the boy on the screen. I decide to get closer to him because I want to talk to him after the interview with Caesar and Peeta.

"That's right, I admit," recognizes Caesar. "The evening that  
preceded the Quarter Quell. Who could have expected you to come back on this set?"

"It was not part of my plan, that's for sure, "said Peeta, frowning.

Caesar leans toward him. "I think everyone had guessed what your plan would be. Sacrifice yourself in the arena for Katniss Everdeen."

"Exactly. It was exactly that. " Peeta traces the pattern printed on the armrest of his chair with his finger. "But some people had other plans for us."

"And if you tell us a little about that last night in the arena?" Caesar suggests. "It could help us to see more clearly."

Peeta nods but takes his time to answer. "The last night ... Well, to begin, you have to imagine what you can experience in the arena. The sensation of being an insect trapped under a glass filled with hot air. And the jungle all around you ... green, teeming with life, with this constant background noise. This giant clock, which promises you new horrors every hour. It must be remembered that in the last two days, sixteen people were killed - some trying to save you. As things go, the other eight will be dead before morning. Except one. The winner. And according to your plan, it will not be you."

Peeta doesn't need a brush to portray the atmosphere of the Games. His words are just as effective.

"When we are in the arena, the rest of the world seems very far," he continues. "The ones you loved, the things that might matter to you, all of that cease to exist. Your reality comes down to the pink skies, the creatures of the jungle and the tributes who want your skin. The rest does not matter anymore. Even if it hurts , you know you're going to have to kill, because in the arena you have only one wish. And it costs you dearly."

"It costs your life," said Caesar.

"Oh no. More than that, " said Peeta. "Murder innocents? It costs you everything you are and have."

"Everthing, " Caesar repeats in a low voice.

no one had yet spoken like that of what one can feel in the arena.

Peeta continues.  
"So, we cling to his wish. And that night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss. But even without knowing what the rebels were doing, I felt like uneasiness. The situation was getting too complicated. I began to regret not having fled with her earlier in the day, as she had suggested. Except it was too late to backtrack. "

"You were too committed to Beetee's plan to electrify the salt lake, " says Caesar.

"Too committed to our alliance with others, yes! " gets carried away Peeta. "I should never have let them separate us. That's where I lost her."

"When you stayed at the foot of the lightning tree, while Harry Styles and her were going down to the lake with the coil, " clarifies Caesar.

"I was against this idea!" says Peeta. "But I could not say no to Beetee without revealing that we were about to break the alliance. When the wire broke, the situation became completely crazy. I keep only a few confused images. Me, looking for her. Seeing Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus in my turn. And then, lightning hit the tree and the force field that encircled the arena ... exploded."

"It was Katniss who blew it up, Peeta," corrects Caesar. "You saw the sequence."

"She did not know what she was doing. None of us understood anything about Beetee's plan. You can see she's wondering what to do with her thread, "Peeta says dryly.

"If you want. Still, the images are disturbing," says Caesar. "As if she were with the rebels from the beginning."

Peeta leaps to his feet and stands just in front of Caesar, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair.

"Ah yes ? Was it also part of his plan to get hit by Johanna? To be paralyzed by the discharge? To trigger the bombing? " He's screaming now. "She did not know anything, Caesar! None of us knew anything except that each of us were trying to keep the other alive!"

Caesar puts both hands on Peeta's chest, as much to protect himself as a gesture of appeasement.

"Okay, Peeta, I believe you."

"Good."

Peeta stands up, passes his hands  
in his hair, tangling carefully his waved blonde locks. He falls back into his own chair, visibly shaken.

Caesar pauses for a moment, staring intently at him.  
"And your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy?"

Peeta's face hardens.  
"I do not know what Haymitch knew or did not know."

"Can we imagine that he took part in the plot?" request  
Caesar.

"He never talked about it before in front of us," says Peeta.

Caesar insists.  
"Yes, but deep inside you, what do you think?"

"That I should never have trusted him, " answers Peeta. "That's all."

Caesar puts his hand on Peeta's shoulder.  
"We can stop there, if you want."

"What else could we talk about?" Peeta says dryly.

"Well, I was going to ask you for your opinion on this  
war, but if you do not feel able to answer ... " begins Caesar.

"Oh, I can answer that." Peeta takes a deep breath, and stares into the camera. "I would like everyone watching - whether they are in the Capitol or rebel camp - to stop for a moment and think about the consequences of this war. We are not a lot. Our resources are fragile. Is this really what we want? To kill each other until the last? In hope of what? To see another species, better, inherit the smoking ruins of the Earth?"

"I'm not sure that I'm following you," admits Caesar.

"We can not continue to fight like that, Caesar, " explains Peeta. "Otherwise, the fight will stop for lack of fighters. If everyone does not lay down their weapons- and soon - there will soon be nothing to save."

"So ... are you calling for a ceasefire?" Caesar asks.

"That's it," Peeta confirms tiredly. " I call for a ceasefire."

Caesar turns to the camera.  
"Very good. I think we said everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Louis is finally here.  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	7. Necklace

The screen went black and everyone start talking at the same time. The names "traitor", "liar", "enemy" bounce off the walls.

I see katniss trying to get away from here. But as she reach the door, Coin's voice rises above the others.

"You have not been dismissed, Soldier Everdeen."

One of Coin's men holds her by the arm. She release herself and sprint in the hallway.

As everyone start leaving the command room, Louis asks me,  
"have you been assigned to a compartment?"

"Yes it's the 316."

"Oh, they finally listen to me. I asked them to put you in the same room as me since I'm kind of your new mentor." He tells me.

I look around and see that everyone left before taking a seat beside him "What do you think about Peeta?"

"I don't know, I think that Peeta has maybe done a lot of harm tonight. Most rebels will not give credit to his statements, of course. But there are some districts where the resistance is more fragile. This ceasefire is clearly an idea of President Snow." He says.

"Do you think he proposed that?" I ask.

"I don't know. He may have been tortured. Or convinced. In my opinion, he had to make some kind of agreement to protect Katniss. I think he is still fighting to keep her alive."

"Whatever Peeta's reasons, he was wrong to say that."

-

After turning in my bed for hours, I resign myself to a sleepless night.  
I get up and cross the cold tiles on tiptoe to the dresser. The middle drawer contains my prescribed clothes. Everyone wears the same: gray pants and gray shirt, the shirt slipped into the pants. Below, I keep the the necklace I had on me when I was in the arena. It's the one that my mother gave me after winning my first games. It has a pretty little airplane on it.

I sit cross-legged on my bed and kiss the necklace

I sit cross-legged on my bed and kiss the necklace. This contact has something soothing. It remind me of my mom and sister. I miss them.

"Harry?" whispers Louis. He's awake, peering at me through the darkness. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."

Louis eases himself from the bed, and sits beside me. He touches the hand that has curled around the necklace. "You're cold." Taking a spare blanket from the foot of the bed, he wraps it around all two of us, enveloping me in his warmth. "You could tell me, you know. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"I feel like everyone is keeping secrets from me like I'm too innocent or stupid or weak to handle them. I don't feel safe anymore. " I tell him.

"It's not like that Harry-" He begins.

"It's exactly like that! I didn't know about the rescue of the Mockingjay in the arena! My family is probably dead by now. I have people I care about, Louis! Family and friends back in District five who will be dead if we don't get them out. I just want the truth. I want to know why they're not here. Why they're not with me." I squeeze the necklace more tightly in my fist.

"Harry, your family they're... " He tells me. "They're in the Capitol."

Tears began to stream down my cheeks, sobbing terribly in the process. "Snow took them away from me. My mom and my sister. everyone. I have no one left!"

Louis hush me. "They're not dead. We'll get them out soon. Beside, You have me, Harry. I'll always be here for you."

I sniff, wiping my tears. "You promise?

Louis nods , knowing that he would never lie to me. "I promise." He says.   
"Try and sleep now, all right?"

-  
In the afternoon, I wake up from a nap for 18:00--Reflection.

Louis tells me they've been announcing the assembly since lunch . The entire population, except those needed for essential jobs, is required to attend. We follow directions to the Collective, a huge room that easily holds the thousands who show up. You can tell it was built for a larger gathering, and perhaps it held one before the pox epidemic. Louis quietly points out the widespread fallout from that disaster--the pox scars on people's bodies, the slightly disfigured children. "They've suffered a lot here," He says.

Katniss who stands by my side responds, "No more than we did in Twelve."

I see a woman lead in a group of hmobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. Me and Katniss cross to him and say, "Hey, Finnick." He doesn't seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. "Finnick! How are you doing?"

"Harry," he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see two familiar faces, I think. He looks at Katniss, "Why are we meeting here?"

"I told Coin I'd be her Mockingjay. But I made her promise to give the other four tributes immunity if the rebels won," She tells him. "In public, so there are plenty of witnesses."

"Oh. Good. Because I worry about that with Annie. That she'll say something that could be construed as traitorous without knowing it," says Finnick.

"Don't worry, I took care of it." She says and heads straight for the podium at the front of the room.

Words are another thing not wasted in 13. Coin calls the audience to attention and tells them Katniss have consented to be the Mockingjay, provided the other victors--Peeta, Johanna, Enobaria, and Annie--will be granted full pardon for any damage they do to the rebel cause.   
In the rumbling of the crowd, I hear the dissent. I suppose no one doubted Katniss would want to be the Mockingjay. She stands indifferent to the hostile looks thrown her way.

The president allows a few moments of unrest, and then continues in her brisk fashion. Only now the words coming out of her mouth are news to me. "But in return for this unprecedented request, Soldier Everdeen has promised to devote herself to our cause. It follows that any deviance from her mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. The immunity would be terminated and the fate of the four victors determined by the law of District Thirteen. As would her own. Thank you."


	8. A little moment of freedom

After lunch, Louis, Katniss and I are scheduled to go down to Special Defense to meet Beetee.

The Special Defense level is situated far down. It's a beehive of rooms full of computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges.  
When we ask for Beetee, we're directed through the maze until we reach an enormous plate-glass window. Inside is the first beautiful thing We've seen in the District 13 compound: a replication of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants, and alive with hummingbirds.

Beetee sits motionless in a wheelchair at the center of the meadow, watching a spring-green bird hover in midair as it sips nectar from a large orange blossom. His eyes follow the bird as it darts away, and he catches sight of us. He gives a friendly wave for us to join him inside.

The air's cool and breathable, not humid and muggy as I'd expected. From all sides comes the whir of tiny wings, which I used to confuse with the sound of insects. I have to wonder what sort of fluke allowed such a pleasing place to be built here.

Beetee still has the pallor of someone in convalescence, but behind those ill-fitting glasses, his eyes are  
alight with excitement. "Aren't they magnificent? Thirteen has been studying their aerodynamics here for years. Forward and backward flight, and speeds up to sixty miles per hour."

"If only we could build you wings like these, Katniss!" Louis says. 

"Doubt I could manage them, Louis," She laughs.

"Here one second, gone the next. Can you bring a hummingbird down with an arrow?" Beetee asks.

"I've never tried. Not much meat on them," She answers.

"No. And you're not one to kill for sport," he says. "I bet they'd be hard to shoot, though."

"You could snare them maybe," I say. "Take a net with a very fine mesh. Enclose an area and leave a mouth of a couple square feet. Bait the inside with nectar flowers. While they're feeding, snap the mouth shut. They'd fly away from the noise but only encounter the far side of the net."

"Would that work?" asks Beetee.

"I don't know. Just an idea," I say. "They might outsmart it."

Katniss and Louis look at me impressed.

"They might. But you're playing on their natural instincts to flee danger. Thinking like your prey...that's where  
you find their vulnerabilities," says Beetee.

"Beetee, Plutarch said you had something for us." Says Katniss.

"Right. I do. Your new bow." He presses a hand control on the arm of the chair and wheels out of the room. As we follow him through the twists and turns of Special Defense, he explains about the chair. "I can walk a little now. It's just that I tire so quickly. It's easier for me to get around this way. How's Finnick doing?"

"He's...he's having concentration problems," I answer. I don't want to say he had a complete mental meltdown.

"Concentration problems, eh?" Beetee smiles grimly. "If you knew what Finnick's been through the last few years, you'd know how remarkable it is he's still with us at all. Tell him I've been working on a new trident for him, though, will you? Something to distract him a little." Distraction seems to be the last thing Finnick needs, but I promise to pass on the message.

Four soldiers guard the entrance to the hall marked Special Weaponry. Checking the schedules printed on our forearms is just a preliminary step. We also have fingerprint, retinal, and DNA scans, and have to step through special metal detectors. Beetee has to leave his wheelchair outside, although they provide him with another once we're through security. I find the whole thing bizarre because I can't imagine anyone raised in District 13 being a threat the government would have to guard against. Have these precautions been put in place because of the recent influx of immigrants?

At the door of the armory, we encounter a second round of identification checks--as if my DNA might have changed in the time it took to walk twenty yards down the hallway--and are finally allowed to enter the weapons collection. I have to admit the arsenal takes my breath away. Row upon row of firearms, launchers, explosives, armored vehicles. "Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately," Beetee tells us.

"Of course," I say, as if this would be self-evident. We come upon a wall of deadly archery weapons. Katniss focus her attention on a bow.

"Harry, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these," says Beetee.

"I don't even know how to use a bow." I say.

"Me and Katniss could teach you." Louis says.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"You'll be issued a gun eventually for battle, of course. But if you and Louis appear as part of Katniss's team in the  
propos,this would look a little showier," says Beetee.

My hands close around the bow that he give me.

"I'll be right back," says Beetee. He presses a code into a panel, and a small doorway opens. I watch until  
he's disappeared and the door's shut.

"So, it'd be easy for you? Using that on people?" I ask Katniss.

"It won't be easy but if I'd had a weapon that could've stopped Snow from taking Peeta...I'd have used it."

Beetee wheels back in with a tall, black rectangular case awkwardly positioned between his footrest and  
his shoulder. He comes to a halt and tilts it toward Katniss. "For you."

She sets the case flat on the floor and undo the latches along one side. The top opens on silent hinges. Inside  
the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, lies a stunning black bow. "Oh," She whispers in admiration. Katniss lifts it carefully into the air to admire the exquisite balance, the elegant design, and the curve of the limbs that somehow suggests the wings of a bird extended in flight.

"What's it doing?" She asks.

"Saying hello," explains Beetee with a grin. "It heard your voice."

"It recognizes her voice?" I ask.

"Only her voice, It's the same with your bow Harry. It only recognizes your voice." he tells me and turns to Katniss, "You see, they wanted me to design a bow based purely on looks. As part of  
your costume, you know? But I kept thinking, What a waste. I mean, what if you do need it sometime? As more than a fashion accessory? So I left the outside simple, and left the inside to my imagination. Best explained in practice, though. Want to try those out?"

We do. Louis and Katniss take an hour to teach me and it turns out that I'm quite good at it. The arrows that Beetee designed for us are no less remarkable than the bow. Between the two, I can shoot with accuracy over one hundred yards. The variety of arrows--razor sharp, incendiary, explosive--turn the bow into a multipurpose weapon. Each one is recognizable by a distinctive colored shaft. I have the option of voice override at any time, but have no idea why I would use it. To deactivate the bow's special properties, I need only tell it "Good night." Then it goes to sleep until the sound of my voice wakes it again.

"I have to go. My preparation team is waiting for me. Are you guys coming to the shoot?" Katniss asks us.

"No, I don't think so." Louis says.

"Okay, then I guess I'll see you guys later." She says and left.

"Are you sure that we don't have to go with her?" I ask.

"I don't know but I have something to show you." Louis says.

-

"Is it in your schedule?" A guard at the door asks.

"No but I have the permission from President Coin." Louis lies.

"Well then I have to put a tracker on you and a communicator."

"Yes sir." Louis responds.

I tolerate having the tracker clamped to my ankle, try to look as if I'm listening when they explain how to use the handheld communicator. The only thing that sticks in my head is that it has a clock, and we must be back inside 13 before dinner.

Louis takes my hand and guides me outside into the large, fenced-in training area beside the woods. Guards open the well-oiled gates without comment. We would be hard-pressed to get past this fence on our own--thirty feet high and always buzzing with electricity, topped with razor-sharp curls of steel. I follow Louis and we move through the woods until the view of the fence has been obscured. In a small clearing, we pause and drop back our heads to bask in the sunlight. I turn in a circle, my arms extended at my sides, revolving slowly so as not to set the world spinning.

I follow Louis to a pond that must be fed by an underground spring, since the water's cool and sweet. I close my eyes, and lean back against a rock, soaking in the sounds, letting the scorching afternoon sun burn my skin, almost at peace.

After a while, I say, "It's good to be out. Have you always lived here?"

"No. I'm from district 12." Louis answers.

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Yeah. That's why i'm here. As soon as I arrived, Coin wanted me to work with her."

"Do you have a family?" I ask.

"Yeah, they all survived. My mom works at the hospital with my sister." Louis says.

"You're not in the same compartment as them?"

"No. Well I was but not anymore. Anyway It was a little bit annoying because I have six siblings." He chuckles.

I lay my head on his shoulder and He gives me a soft kiss on my head. "Your hair are getting so long."

"I know." I say.

"I like them." He says and closes his eyes, "you smell like you."

"What does that even mean?"

"You smell perfect." He says.

"I feel happy."

"Is this a bad thing?" he asks.

"No, it's just that it's been a long time since I felt like that way." I answer.

He looks at the clock on his communicator and says, "We better get going if we want to make it back on time."

I take his offer of a hand up and get to my feet. "Fine." I say before pouting.

He pokes one of my dimple and smiles. "Don't be sad Haz. We'll have some other time to come here."

I smile and try not to blush too much because of the nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	9. District 8

In the morning, we gather around the huge table in Command. Coin and her people. Plutarch, and Katniss and her prep team. A group from 12 that includes Haymitch, Louis and Gale. At the last minute, Finnick wheels Beetee in, accompanied by Dalton, the cattle expert from 10. I suppose that Coin has assembled this strange assortment of people for Katniss.

However, it's Haymitch who welcomes everyone, and by his words I understand that they have come at his personal invitation. I guess that it's the first time that Katniss see him since the games because she avoids looking at him directly. He looks slightly yellow and has lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw him at the hospital.

The first thing Haymitch does is to show the footage they've just shot. Both Katniss's voice and body have a jerky, disjointed quality, like a puppet being manipulated by unseen forces.

"All right," Haymitch says when it's over. "Would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?" No one does. "That saves time. So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real."

Quiet stretches out and I'm beginning to think it will never end, when I decide to speak up. "When she volunteered to take Prim's place at the reaping. Because I'm sure she thought she was going to die."

"Good. Excellent example," says Haymitch. He takes a purple marker and writes on a notepad.  
"Volunteered for sister at reaping." Haymitch looks around the table. "Somebody else."

I'm surprised that the next speaker is Liam, who I think of as a muscular robot that does Coin's bidding.  
"When she sang the song. While the little girl died." Somewhere in my head an image surfaces of Liam with a baby in his arms. In the dining hall, I think. Maybe he's not a robot after all.

"Who didn't get choked up at that, right?" says Haymitch, writing it down.

"I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him good-bye!" blurts out Octavia, the girl from Katniss's prep team. Then she covers her mouth, like she's sure this was a bad mistake.

But Haymitch only nods. "Oh, yeah. Drugs Peeta to save his life. Very nice."

The moments begin to come thick and fast and in no particular order. When she took Rue on as an ally. Extended her hand to Chaff on interview night. Tried to carry Mags. And again and again when she held out those berries that meant different things to different people. Love for Peeta. Refusal to give in under impossible odds. Defiance of the Capitol's inhumanity.

Haymitch holds up the notepad. "So, the question is, what do all of these have in common?"

"They were Katniss's," says Louis quietly. "No one told her what to do or say."

"Unscripted, yes!" says Beetee. He reaches over and pats her hand. "So we should just leave you alone,  
right?"

People laugh. Katniss even smiles a little.

"Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful," says Coin peevishly. "Unfortunately, her opportunities for  
being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen. So unless you're suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat--"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," says Haymitch. "Put her out in the field and just keep the cameras rolling."

The idea of sending her into combat is controversial. But Haymitch has a pretty tight case. If she perform well only in real-life circumstances, then into them she should go. "Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is okay. It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to."

"Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety," says Liam. "She'll be a target for every--"

"I want to go," She breaks in. "I'm no help to the rebels here."

"And if you're killed?" asks Coin.

"Make sure you get some footage. You can use that, anyway," She answer. "I want Harry and Louis to go too."

I turn and look at her with wide eyes.

"Does Harry knows how to use a weapon?"

"Yeah. I taught him the other day." She answers.

"Fine," says Coin. "But let's take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you." She walks around Command, studying the illuminated district maps that show the ongoing troop positions in the war. "Take them into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want them armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with them. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?"

"Wash her face," says Louis. Everyone turns to him. "She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do."

-

Since we'll be in a combat zone, Beetee helps us with armor. A helmet of some interwoven metal that fits close to our head. The material's supple, like fabric, and can be drawn back like a hood in case we don't want it up full-time. A vest to reinforce the protection over our vital organs. A small white earpiece that attaches to our collar by a wire. Beetee secures a mask to our belt that we don't have to wear unless there's a gas attack. "If you see anyone dropping for reasons you can't explain, put it on immediately," he says. Finally, he straps a sheath divided into three cylinders of arrows to my and Katniss's back. "Just remember: Right side, fire. Left side, explosive. Center, regular. You shouldn't need them, but better safe than sorry."

Liam shows up to escort us down to the Airborne Division. Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. "Katniss, they won't let me go! I told them I'm fine, but they won't even let me ride in the hovercraft!"

I take in Finnick--his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half- knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes--and know any plea on our part will be useless. Even I don't think it's a good idea to bring him. Katniss smacks her hand on her forehead and says, "Oh, I forgot. It's this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He's designed a new trident for you."

At the word trident, it's as if the old Finnick surfaces. "Really? What's it do?"

"I don't know. But if it's anything like my bow and arrows, you're going to love it," She says. "You'll need to train with it, though."

"Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there," he says.

"Finnick?" She says. "Maybe put some pants on?"

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown,  
leaving him in just his underwear. "Why? Do you find this"--he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose-- "distracting?"

I can't help laughing because it's funny, and it's extra funny because it makes Liam look so uncomfortable, and I'm happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

"I'm only human, Odair." She gets in before the elevator doors close. "Sorry," She says to Liam.

"Don't be. I thought you...handled that well," he says. "Better than my having to arrest him, anyway."

"Yeah," She says.

I sneak a sidelong glance at Liam. He's spoken out twice today in ways that make me think he would rather be friends than enemies. Maybe I should give him a chance.

There's a series of loud clicks. The elevator comes to a slight pause and then begins to move laterally to the left. "It goes sideways?" I ask.

"Yes. There's a whole network of elevator paths under Thirteen," he answers. "This one lies just above the transport spoke to the fifth airlift platform. It's taking us to the Hangar."

The Hangar. Special Defense. Somewhere food is grown. Power generated. Air and water purified. "Thirteen is even larger than I thought."

"Can't take credit for much of it," says Liam. "We basically inherited the place. It's been all we can do to keep it running."

The clicks resume. We drop down again briefly--just a couple of levels--and the doors open on the Hangar.

"Oh," I let out involuntarily at the sight of the fleet. Row after row of different kinds of hovercraft. "Did you inherit these, too?"

"Some we manufactured. Some were part of the Capitol's air force. They've been updated, of course," says Liam.

I feel that twinge of hatred against 13 again. "So, you had all this, and you left the rest of the districts defenseless against the Capitol."

"It's not that simple," he shoots back. "We were in no position to launch a counterattack until recently. We could barely stay alive. After we'd overthrown and executed the Capitol's people, only a handful of us even knew how to pilot. We could've nuked them with missiles, yes. But there's always the larger question: If we engage in that type of war with the Capitol, would there be any human life left?"

"That sounds like what Peeta said. And you all called him a traitor," Katniss says.

"Because he called for a cease-fire," says Liam. "You'll notice neither side has launched nuclear weapons. We're working it out the old-fashioned way. Over here." He indicates one of the smaller hovercraft.

We mount the stairs and find it packed with the television crew and equipment. Everyone else is dressed in 13's dark gray military jumpsuits, even Haymitch, although he seems unhappy about the snugness of his collar.

Fulvia Cardew hustles over and makes a sound of frustration when she sees Katniss's clean face. "All that work, down the drain. I'm not blaming you, Katniss. It's just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him." She snags Louis, who's in a conversation with Plutarch, and spins him toward us. "Isn't he handsome?" She asks us.

Louis does look striking in the uniform.

Liam says brusquely, "Well, don't expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear."

There's a warning of the upcoming takeoff and I strap myself into a seat next to Louis, facing off with  
Haymitch and Katniss. We glide through a maze of tunnels that opens out onto a platform. Some sort of elevator device lifts the craft slowly up through the levels. All at once we're outside in a large field surrounded by woods, then we rise off the platform and become wrapped in clouds.

Now that the flurry of activity leading up to this mission is over, I realize I have no idea what I'm facing on this trip to District 8. In fact, I know very little about the actual state of the war. Or what it would take to win it. Or what would happen if we did.

Louis tries to lay it out in simple terms for me. First of all, every district is currently at war with the Capitol except 2, which has always had a favored relationship with our enemies despite its participation in the Hunger Games. They get more food and better living conditions. After the Dark Days and the supposed destruction of 13, District 2 became the Capitol's new center of defense, although it's publicly presented as the home of the nation's stone quarries, in the same way that 13 was known for graphite mining. District 2 not only manufactures weaponry, it trains and even supplies Peacekeepers.

"You mean...some of the Peacekeepers are born in Two?" I ask. "I thought they all came from the Capitol."

Louis nods. "That's what you're supposed to think. And some do come from the Capitol. But its population could never sustain a force that size. Then there's the problem of recruiting Capitol-raised citizens for a dull life of deprivation in the districts. A twenty-year commitment to the Peacekeepers, no marriage, no children allowed. Some buy into it for the honor of the thing, others take it on as an alternative to punishment. For instance, join the Peacekeepers and your debts are forgiven. Many people are swamped in debt in the Capitol, but not all of them are fit for military duty. So District Two is where we turn for additional troops. It's a way for their people to escape poverty and a life in the quarries. They're raised with a warrior mind-set. You've seen how eager their children are to volunteer to be tributes."

Brutus and Enobaria. I've seen their eagerness and their bloodlust, too. "But all the other districts are on our side?" I ask.

"Yes. Our goal is to take over the districts one by one, ending with District Two, thus cutting off the Capitol's supply chain. Then, once it's weakened, we invade the Capitol itself," says Louis. "That will be a whole other type of challenge. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"If we win, who would be in charge of the government?" Katniss asks.

"Everyone," Plutarch tells him. "We're going to form a republic where the people of each district and the Capitol can elect their own representatives to be their voice in a centralized government. Don't look so suspicious; it's worked before."

"In books," Haymitch mutters.

"In history books," says Plutarch.   
"And if our ancestors could do it, then we can, too."

Frankly, our ancestors don't seem much to brag about. I mean, look at the state they left us in, with the wars and the broken planet. Clearly, they didn't care about what would happen to the people who came after them. But this republic idea sounds like an improvement over our current government.

"And if we lose?" I ask.

"If we lose?" Plutarch looks out at the clouds, and an ironic smile twists his lips. "Then I would expect next year's Hunger Games to be quite unforgettable. That reminds me." He takes a vial from his vest, shakes a few deep violet pills into his hand, and holds them out to us. "We named them nightlock in your honor, Katniss. The rebels can't afford for any of us to be captured now. But I promise, it will be completely painless."

I take hold of a capsule, unsure of where to put it. Plutarch taps a spot on my shoulder at the front of my left sleeve. I examine it and find a tiny pocket that both secures and conceals the pill. Even if my hands were tied, I could lean my head forward and bite it free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going back to school on Monday  
> I was on break for two weeks because I had a surgery.  
> I will try my best to update this fic everyday.  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	10. Hospital

The hovercraft makes a quick, spiral descent onto a wide road on the outskirts of 8. Almost immediately, the door opens, the stairs slide into place, and we're spit out onto the asphalt. The moment the last person disembarks, the equipment retracts. Then the craft lifts off and vanishes. Katniss and I are left with a bodyguard made up of Louis, Liam, and two other soldiers. 

The TV crew consists of a pair of burly Capitol cameramen with heavy mobile cameras encasing their bodies like insect shells, a guy director named Cressida who has a shaved head tattooed with green vines, and her assistant, Zayn, a slim young man with several sets of earrings. On careful observation, I see his tongue has been pierced, too, and he wears a stud with a silver ball the size of a marble.

Liam hustles us off the road toward a row of warehouses as a second hovercraft comes in for a landing. This one brings crates of medical supplies and a crew of six medics--I can tell by their distinctive white outfits. We all follow Liam down an alley that runs between two dull gray warehouses. Only the occasional access ladder to the roof interrupts the scarred metal walls. When we emerge onto the street, it's like we've entered another world.

The wounded from this morning's bombing are being brought in. On homemade stretchers, in wheelbarrows, on carts, slung across shoulders, and clenched tight in arms. Bleeding, limbless, unconscious. Propelled by desperate people to a warehouse with a sloppily painted H above the doorway.I had expected bombed-out buildings and instead find myself confronted with broken human bodies.

Katniss turns to Liam. "This won't work," She says. "I won't be good here."

I stop a moment and place my hands on her shoulders. "You will. Just let them see you. That will do more for them than any doctor in the world could."

A woman directing the incoming patients catches sight of us, does a sort of double take, and then strides over. Her dark brown eyes are puffy with fatigue and she smells of metal and sweat. A bandage around her throat needed changing about three days ago. The strap of the automatic weapon slung across her back digs into her neck and she shifts her shoulder to reposition it. With a jerk of her thumb, she orders the medics into the warehouse. They comply without question.

"This is Commander Paylor of Eight," says Liam. "Commander this is Soldier Katniss Everdeen."

She looks young to be a commander. Early thirties. But there's an authoritative tone to her voice that makes you feel her appointment wasn't arbitrary.

"Yeah, I know who she is," says Paylor. "You're alive, then. We weren't sure."

"I'm still not sure myself," She answers.

"Been in recovery." Liam taps his head. "Bad concussion." He lowers his voice a moment. "She insisted on coming by to see your wounded."

"Well, we've got plenty of those," says Paylor.

"You think this is a good idea?" says Louis, frowning at the hospital. "Assembling your wounded like this?"

I don't. Any sort of contagious disease would spread through this place like wildfire.

"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die," says Paylor.

"That's not what I meant," Louis tells her.

"Well, currently that's my other option. But if you come up with a third and get Coin to back it, I'm all ears." Paylor waves us toward the door. "Come on in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends.

We follow her into the hospital.   
Some sort of heavy, industrial curtain hangs the length of the building, forming a sizable corridor. Corpses lie side by side, curtain brushing their heads, white cloths concealing their faces. "We've got a mass grave started a few blocks west of here, but I can't spare the manpower to move them yet," says Paylor. She finds a slit in the curtain and opens it wide.

My fingers wrap around Louis's wrist. "Do not leave my side," I say under my breath.

"I'm right here," he answers quietly.

We step through the curtain and my senses are assaulted. My first impulse is to cover my nose to block out the stench of soiled linen, putrefying flesh, and vomit, all ripening in the heat of the warehouse. They've propped open skylights that crisscross the high metal roof, but any air that's managing to get in can't make a dent in the fog below. The thin shafts of sunlight provide the only illumination, and as my eyes adjust, I can make out row upon row of wounded, in cots, on pallets, on the floor because there are so many to claim the space. The drone of black flies, the moaning of people in pain, and the sobs of their attending loved ones have combined into a wrenching chorus.

"Katniss?" a voice croaks out, breaking apart from the general din. "Katniss?" A hand reaches for her out of the haze. She clings to it for support. Attached to the hand is a young woman with an injured leg. Blood has seeped through the heavy bandages, which are crawling with flies. Her face reflects her pain, but something else, too, something that seems completely incongruous with her situation. "Is it really you?"

"Yeah, it's me," She responds.

Joy. That's the expression on her face. At the sound of Katniss's voice, it brightens, erases the suffering momentarily.

"You're alive! We didn't know. People said you were, but we didn't know!" she says excitedly.

"I got pretty banged up. But I got better," She says. "Just like you will."

"I've got to tell my brother!" The woman struggles to sit up and calls to someone a few beds down. "Eddy!  
Eddy! She's here! It's Katniss Everdeen!"

A boy, probably about twelve years old, turns to us. Bandages obscure half of his face. The side of his  
mouth I can see opens as if to utter an exclamation. She goes to him, push his damp brown curls back from his forehead. Murmur a greeting. He can't speak, but his one good eye fixes on her with such intensity, as if he's trying to memorize every detail of her face.

The sounds of pain and grief begin to recede, to be replaced by words of anticipation. From all sides, voices beckon us. Katniss begins to move, clasping the hands extended to her, touching the sound parts of those unable to move their limbs, saying hello, how are you, good to meet you. Nothing of importance, no amazing words of inspiration. But it doesn't matter. Liam is right. It's the sight of Katniss, alive, that is the inspiration.

When we're outside again, I lean against the warehouse, accepting the canteen of water from Louis.

"We got some nice stuff in there," says Cressida. I look at the insect cameramen, perspiration pouring  
from under their equipment. Zayn scribbling notes. I had forgotten they were even filming us.

"I didn't do much, really," Katniss says.

"You have to give yourself some credit for what you've done in the past," says Liam.

She slides down to a sitting position. "That's a mixed bag."

"Well, you're not perfect by a long shot. But times being what they are, you'll have to do," says Liam.

"Your mother's going to be very proud when she sees the footage," Louis tells Katniss.

"My mother won't even notice me. She'll be too appalled by the conditions in there."

I turn to Liam and ask, "Is it like this in every district?"

"Yes. Most are under attack. We're trying to get in aid wherever we can, but it's not enough." He stops a  
minute, distracted by something in his earpiece. "We're to get to the airstrip. Immediately," Liam says, lifting Katniss to her feet with one hand. "There's a problem."

"What kind of problem?" asks Louis.

"Incoming bombers," says Liam. He reaches behind my neck and yanks my helmet up onto my head. He does the same to Katniss and says, "Let's move!"

Unsure of what's going on, I take off running along the front of the warehouse, heading for the alley that leads to the airstrip. But I don't sense any immediate threat. The sky's an empty, cloudless blue. The street's clear except for the people hauling the wounded to the hospital. There's no enemy, no alarm. Then the sirens begin to wail. Within seconds, a low-flying V-shaped formation of Capitol hoverplanes appears above us, and the bombs begin to fall. I'm blown off my feet, into the front wall of the warehouse. There's a searing pain just above the back of my right knee. Something has struck my back as well, but doesn't seem to have penetrated my vest. I try to get up, but Louis pushes me back down, shielding my body with his own. The ground ripples under me as bomb after bomb drops from the planes and detonates.

"Katniss! Harry!" I'm startled by Haymitch's voice in my ear.

"What? Yes, what? We're here!" I answer.

"Listen to me. We can't land during the bombing, but it's imperative you're not spotted," he says.

"So they don't know Katniss is here?" I ask.

"I think no, this raid was already scheduled," says Haymitch.

Now Plutarch's voice comes up, calm but forceful. The voice of a Head Gamemaker used to calling the  
shots under pressure. "There's a light blue warehouse three down from you. It has a bunker in the far north corner. Can you two get there?"

"We'll do our best," says Liam.

Plutarch and Haymitch must be in everyone's ear, because my bodyguards and crew are getting up. My eye instinctively searches for Louis.

"You've got maybe forty-five seconds to the next wave," says Plutarch.

I give a grunt of pain as my right leg takes the weight of my body, but I keep moving. No time to examine the injury. Better not to look now, anyway.

Liam has the lead, but no one else passes Katniss. Instead they match her pace, protecting her and my sides. I force myself into a sprint as the seconds tick away. We pass the second gray warehouse and run along a dirt brown building. Up ahead, I see a faded blue facade. Home of the bunker. We have just reached another alley, need only to cross it to arrive at the door, when the next wave of bombs begins. I instinctively dive into the alley and roll toward the blue wall. Louis throws himself over me again to provide one more layer of protection from the bombing. It seems to go on longer this time, but we are farther away. I shift onto my side and find myself looking directly into Louis's eyes. For an instant the world recedes and there is just his flushed face, his pulse visible at his temple, his lips slightly parted as he tries to catch his breath.  
"You all right?" he asks, his words nearly drowned out by an explosion.

"Yeah. I don't think they've seen us," I answer. "I mean, they're not following us."

"No, they've targeted something else," says Katniss, beside us.

"I know, but there's nothing back there but--" The realization hits us at the same time.

"The hospital." Instantly, Louis's up and shouting to the others. "They're targeting the hospital!"

"Not your problem," says Plutarch firmly. "Get to the bunker."

"But there's nothing there but the wounded!" Katniss says.

"Katniss." I hear the warning note in Haymitch's voice and know what's coming. "Don't you even think  
about--!" She yanks the earpiece free and let it hang from its wire.

I hear another sound. Machine gun fire coming from the roof of the dirt brown warehouse across the alley. Someone is returning fire. Before anyone can stop her, She makes a dash for an access ladder and begin to scale it. Louis and I follow her.

"Don't stop!" I hear Louis say behind me. Then there's the sound of his boot on someone's face. If it belongs to Liam, Louis's going to pay for it dearly later on. I make the roof and drag myself onto the tar. I stop long enough to pull Louis up beside me, and then we take off for the row of machine gun nests on the street side of the warehouse. Each looks to be manned by a few rebels. We skid into a nest with a pair of soldiers, hunching down behind the barrier.

"Liam know you're up here?" To my left I see Paylor behind one of the guns, looking at us quizzically.

"He knows where we are, all right." Katniss says.

Paylor laughs. "I bet he does. You been trained in these?" She slaps the stock of her gun.

"I have. In Thirteen," says Louis. "But I'd rather use my own weapons."

"Yes, we've got our bows." Katniss says and I hold mine up. "It's more deadly than it looks."

"It would have to be," says Paylor. "All right. We expect at least three more waves. They have to drop their sight shields before they release the bombs. That's our chance. Stay low!" I do what Katniss taught me   
and position myself to shoot from one knee.

"Better start with fire," says Louis.

I nod and pull an arrow from my right sheath. If we miss our targets, these arrows will land somewhere-- probably the warehouses across the street. A fire can be put out, but the damage an explosive can do may be irreparable.

Suddenly, they appear in the sky, two blocks down, maybe a hundred yards above us. Seven small bombers in a V formation.

Katniss, Louis and I let our arrow fly. I catch the inside wing of one, causing it to burst into flames. Louis just misses the point plane. A fire blooms on an empty warehouse roof across from us. He swears under his breath.

The hoverplane I hit swerves out of formation, but still releases its bombs. It doesn't disappear, though. Neither does one other I assume was hit by gunfire. The damage must prevent the sight shield from reactivating.

"Good shot," says Louis.

I'd set my sights on the plane in front of it. "They're faster than we think."

"Positions!" Paylor shouts. The next wave of hoverplanes is appearing already.

"Fire's no good," Katniss says. I nod and we load explosive-tipped arrows. Those warehouses across the way look deserted anyway.

I score a direct hit on the point plane, blasting a hole in its belly. Katniss blows the tail off a second. It flips and crashes into the street, setting off a series of explosions as its cargo goes off.  
Without warning, a third V formation unveils. This time, Louis squarely hits the point plane. Katniss take the wing off the second bomber, causing it to spin into the one behind it.   
Together they collide into the roof of the warehouse across from the hospital. A fourth goes down from gunfire.

"All right, that's it," Paylor says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY SNOWING IN CANADA!!!  
> CHRISTMAS IS COMING!!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	11. Burning Words

Flames and heavy black smoke from the wreckage obscure our view. "Did they hit the hospital?"

"Must have," Paylor says grimly.

As we hurry toward the ladders at the far end of the warehouse, the sight of Zayn and one of the insects emerging from behind an air duct surprises me. I thought they'd still be hunkered down in the alley.

I scramble down a ladder. When my feet hit the ground, I find a bodyguard, Cressida, and the other insect waiting. I expect resistance, but Cressida just waves us toward the hospital. She's yelling, "I don't care, Plutarch! Just give me five more minutes!" Not one to question a free pass, We take off into the street.

"Oh, no," Katniss whispers as we catch sight of the hospital. What used to be the hospital. She moves past the wounded, past the burning plane wrecks, fixated on the disaster ahead of me. People screaming, running about frantically, but unable to help. The bombs have collapsed the hospital roof and set the building on fire, effectively trapping the patients within. A group of rescuers has assembled, trying to clear a path to the inside. But I already know what they will find. If the crushing debris and the flames didn't get them, the smoke did.

Louis is at my shoulder. The fact that he does nothing only confirms my suspicions.

"Why would they do that? Why would they target people who were already dying?" I ask him.

"Scare others off. Prevent the wounded from seeking help," says Louis. "Those people, they were expendable. To Snow, anyway. If the Capitol wins, what will it do with a bunch of damaged slaves?"

When Louis questioned the existence of the hospital, he was not thinking of disease, but this. Because he never underestimates the cruelty of those we face.

Katniss slowly turns her back to the hospital and find Cressida, flanked by the insects, standing a couple of yards in front of her. "Katniss," she says, "President Snow just had them air the bombing live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Would you like to tell the rebels anything?"

"Yes," She whispers. "Yes," She says more forcefully. Everyone is drawing away from her--Me, Louis, Cressida, the insects--giving her the stage. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors. I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." Her hands go out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around her. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"

She's moving in toward the camera now, carried forward by her rage. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" One of the cameras follows as she point to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from us. The Capitol seal on a wing glows clearly through the flames. "Fire is catching!" She's shouting now, determined that he will not miss a word. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"

"Cut!" Cressida says and gives her a nod of approval. "That's a wrap."

I look over at the hospital, just in time to see the rest of the structure give way. All those people, the hundreds of wounded, the relatives, the medics from 13, are no more. I turn back to Liam, see the swelling on his face left by Louis's boot. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure his nose is broken. His voice is more resigned than angry, though. "Back to the landing strip."

I obediently take a step forward and wince as I become aware of the pain behind my right knee. The adrenaline rush that overrode the sensation has passed and my body parts join in a chorus of complaints. I'm banged up and bloody and someone seems to be hammering on my left temple from inside my skull. Louis quickly examines my face, then scoops me up and jogs for the runway. Halfway there, I puke on his bulletproof vest.

A small hovercraft, different from the one that transported us here, waits on the runway. No comfy seats and windows this time. We seem to be in some sort of cargo craft. Liam does emergency first aid on people to hold them until we get back to 13. I want to take off my vest, since I got a fair amount of vomit on it as well, but it's too cold to think about it. I lie on the floor with my head in Louis's lap.

-

When I wake up, I'm warm and patched up in my old bed in the hospital. Katniss is in the bed next to me, talking with her mother.

On the bedside table is a piece of shrapnel they removed from my leg. The doctors are more concerned  
with the damage my brain might have suffered from the explosions, since my concussion hadn't fully healed to begin with. But I don't have double vision or anything and I can think clearly enough. I've slept right through the late afternoon and night, and I'm starving. My breakfast is disappointingly small. Just a few cubes of bread soaking in warm milk.

Katniss and I have been called down to an early morning meeting at Command. I start to get up and then realize they plan to roll my hospital bed directly there. I want to walk, but that's out, so I negotiate my way into a wheelchair. I feel fine, really. Except for my head, and my leg, and the soreness from the bruises, and the nausea that hit a couple minutes after I ate. Maybe the wheelchair's a good idea.

As they wheel me down, I begin to get uneasy about what I will face. Katniss, Louis and I directly disobeyed orders yesterday, and Liam has the injury to prove it. Surely, there will be repercussions, but will they go so far as Coin annulling the agreement for the victors' immunity?

When Katniss and I get to Command, the only ones who've arrived are Cressida, Zayn, and the insects. They impressed me in 8, following Katniss onto the roof during the bombing, making Plutarch back off so they could get the footage they wanted. They more than do their work, they take pride in it.

"I have to stop calling you 'the insects,'" I blurt out to the cameramen.

I explain how I didn't know their names, but their suits suggested the shelled creatures. The comparison doesn't seem to bother them. Even without the camera shells, they strongly resemble each other. The one with close-bitten nails introduces himself as Castor and the other, who's his brother, as Niall. I wait for Niall to say hello, but he just nods. At first I think he's shy or a man of few words. But something tugs on me, the position of his lips, the extra effort he takes to swallow, and I know before Castor tells me. Niall is an Avox. They have cut out his tongue and he will never speak again. And I no longer have to wonder what made him risk everything to help bring down the Capitol.

As the room fills, I brace myself for a less congenial reception. But the only people who register any kind of negativity are Haymitch, who's always out of sorts, and a sour-faced Fulvia Cardew. Liam wears a flesh-colored plastic mask from his upper lip to his brow. I was right about the broken nose, so his expression's hard to read.

When Louis slides into the seat next to my wheelchair, he touches my temple gently. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine." I say and take his hand. "How are you?"

"Fine. They dug out a couple of pieces of shrapnel. No big deal," he says.

Coin starts the meeting, showing us the footage of Katniss.

At first, the screen is black. Then a tiny spark flickers in the center. It blossoms, spreads, silently eating up the blackness until the entire frame is ablaze with a fire so real and intense. The image of katniss's mockingjay pin emerges, glowing red-gold. The deep, resonant voice that haunts my dreams begins to speak. Claudius Templesmith, the official announcer of the Hunger Games, says, "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, burns on."  
Suddenly, there she is, replacing the mockingjay, standing before the real flames and smoke of District 8. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." Cut to the hospital collapsing in on itself, the desperation of the onlookers as she continue in voice-over. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." Back to Katniss now, her hands lifting up to indicate the outrage around her. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!" Now comes a truly fantastic montage of the battle. The initial bombs falling, us running, being blown to the ground a close-up of katniss's wound, which looks good and bloody scaling the roof, diving into the nests, and then some amazing shots of the rebels, Louis, me and mostly Katniss knocking those planes out of the sky. Smash-cut back to her moving in on the camera. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" The image of her face, shouting at the president "Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!"   
Flames engulf the screen again. Super imposed on them in black, solid letters are the words:

IF WE BURN YOU BURN WITH US

The words catch fire and the whole screen burns to blackness.

There's a moment of silent relish, then we all start to applause. An anti-Capitol statement. There's never been anything like it on television. Not in my lifetime, anyway.

"Did it play all over Panem? Did they see it in the Capitol?" Louis asks.

"Not in the Capitol," says Plutarch. "We couldn't override their system, although Beetee's working on it. But in all the districts. We even got it on in Two, which may be more valuable than the Capitol at this point in the game."

"Is Claudius Templesmith with us?" Katniss asks.

This gives Plutarch a good laugh. "Only his voice. But that's ours for the taking. We didn't even have to do any special editing. He said that actual line in your first Games." He slaps his hand on the table. "What say we give another round of applause to Cressida, her amazing team, and, of course, our on-camera talent!"

Coin seems to have reached the end of her tolerance for self-congratulation. "Yes, well deserved. The result is more than we had hoped for. But I do have to question the wide margin of risk that you were willing to operate within. I know the raid was unforeseen. However, given the circumstances, I think we should discuss the decision to send Katniss into actual combat."

"It was a tough call," says Plutarch, furrowing his brow. "But the general consensus was that we weren't going to get anything worth using if we locked her in a bunker somewhere every time a gun went off."

"And you're all right with that?" asks the president.

"Oh! Yeah, I'm completely all right with that. It felt good. Doing something for a change." She says.

"Well, let's be just a little more judicious with her exposure. Especially now that the Capitol knows what she can do," says Coin.

Haymitch is giving her a deadly smile and saying sweetly, "Yeah, we wouldn't want to lose our little Mockingjay when she's finally begun to sing."

"So, what else do you have planned?" asks the president.

Plutarch nods to Cressida, who consults a clipboard. "We have some terrific footage of Katniss at the hospital in Eight. There should be another propo in that with the theme 'Because you know who they are and what they do.' We'll focus on Katniss interacting with the patients, particularly the children, the bombing of the hospital, and the wreckage. Zayn's cutting that together. We're also thinking about a Mockingjay piece. Highlight some of Katniss's best moments intercut with scenes of rebel uprisings and war footage. We call that one 'Fire is catching.' And then Fulvia came up with a really brilliant idea."

Fulvia's mouthful-of-sour-grapes expression is startled right off her face, but she recovers. "Well, I don't know how brilliant it is, but I was thinking we could do a series of propos called We Remember. In each one, we would feature one of the dead tributes. Little Rue from Eleven or old Mags from Four. The idea being that we could target each district with a very personal piece."

"A tribute to your tributes, as it were," says Plutarch.

"That is brilliant, Fulvia," Louis says sincerely. "It's the perfect way to remind people why they're fighting."

"I think it could work," she says. "I thought we might use Harry and Finnick to intro and narrate the spots."

"Frankly, I don't see how we could have too many We Remember propos," says Coin. "Can you start  
producing them today?"

"Of course," says Fulvia, obviously mollified by the response to her idea.  
Cressida has smoothed everything over in the creative department with her gesture. Praised Fulvia for  
what is, in fact, a really good idea, and cleared the way to continue her own on-air depiction of the Mockingjay.

The president sends everyone off to get to work, so Louis wheels me back to the hospital. We laugh a little about the cover-up. Louis says no one wanted to look bad by admitting they couldn't control Katniss.

"I can't believe that you actually broke his nose." I tell him.

"Don't worry, i'm sure that he's fine."

Louis has to go meet Beetee down in Special Weaponry, so I doze off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	12. Propo in District 12

At dinner, Finnick and Louis bring their tray and sit with Katniss and I in our hospital room. so we can watch the newest propo together on television. Finnick still basically lives in the hospital. The rebels air the "Because you know who they are and what they do" propo that Zayn edited. The footage is intercut with short studio clips of Louis, Liam, and Cressida describing the incident. It's hard to watch because me and Katniss know what's coming. When the bombs rain down on the roof, I bury my face in my pillow, looking up again at a brief clip of Katniss at the end, after all the victims are dead.

At least Finnick doesn't applaud or act all happy when it's done. He just says, "People should know that happened. And now they do."

"Let's turn it off, Finnick, before they run it again," Katniss urges him. But as Finnick's hand moves toward the remote control, she cries, "Wait!"

The Capitol is introducing a special segment and something about it looks familiar.

Yes, it's Caesar Flickerman. And I can guess who his guest will be.  
Peeta's physical transformation shocks me. The healthy, clear-eyed boy I saw a few days ago has lost at least fifteen pounds and developed a nervous tremor in his hands. They've still got him groomed. But underneath the paint that cannot cover the bags under his eyes, and the fine clothes that cannot conceal the pain he feels when he moves, is a person badly damaged.

My mind reels, trying to make sense of it. I just saw him! Four--no, five--I think it was five days ago. How has he deteriorated so rapidly? What could they possibly have done to him in such a short time? Then it hits me. I replay in my mind as much as I can of his first interview with Caesar, searching for anything that would place it in time. There is nothing. They could have taped that interview a day or two after Katniss blew up the arena, then done whatever they wanted to do to him ever since.

"Oh, Peeta..." Katniss whispers.

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that Katniss is taping propos for the districts.

"They're using her, obviously," says Peeta. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" asks Caesar.

"There is," says Peeta. He looks directly into the camera. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't...find out."

Black screen. Seal of Panem. Show over.

Louis takes the remote from Finnick and presses the button that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta's condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I don't think that Katniss needs that right now.

I grip her hard by the arms. "We didn't see it."

"What?" She asks.

"We didn't see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you.  
Got it?" I ask. She nods.

"Finish your dinner." Louis says to me. When Plutarch and Fulvia enter, I have a mouthful of bread and cabbage. Finnick is talking about how well Louis came across on camera. We congratulate them on the propo. Make it clear it was so powerful, we tuned out right afterward. They look relieved. They believe us.

In the morning, I'm released from the hospital and instructed to take it easy. Fulvia asks me to record a few lines for the new 'We Remember' propo. At dinner, I sit beside Louis and Katniss.

"I haven't heard one word about it. No one's told you anything?" Louis says. She shakes her head.

I stop eating and ask her, "Not even your friend Gale?"

"Maybe he's trying to find a time to tell you privately." Louis says

"Maybe," She says.

-

After dinner, Louis and I walk back to Compartment 316.   
"Lou?"

"Yes?" Louis asks.

"Why aren't you disgusted by me?" I ask, staring at him with terrified eyes.

"Why would I be?"

"I killed her. I killed the girl from your district." I say, talking about Marcy, the tribute from district 12 in my first game. Marcy and I made an alliance during the games. she protected me   
and at the end, when there was only Marcy and I left, I killed her with the knife that I stole from the tribute of district 11. When I did the victory tour, my appearances in 12 was kind of awful. Marcy might have made it home if I hadn't personally killed the girl.

Everytime I look at Louis or even Katniss in the eyes, I remember what I did.

"Don't apologize," he says shortly. "Stop apologizing."

-

After breakfast, I ignore my schedule and am headed back to Compartment 316 when Liam intercepts me.  
"There's a meeting in Command. Disregard your current schedule," he says.

"Done," I say.

"Did you follow it at all today?" he asks in exasperation.

"Who knows? Why do they want me in Command? Did I miss something?"

"I think Cressida wanted to show you the propos with took in district 12 that they shooted with katniss earlier. But I guess you'll see them when they air," he says.

"That's what I need a schedule of. When the propos air," I say.

He shoots me a look but doesn't comment further.

People have crowded into Command, but they've saved me a seat between Louis and Plutarch. The screens are already up on the table, showing the regular Capitol feed.

"What's going on? Aren't we seeing the Twelve propos?" I ask.

"Oh, no," says Plutarch. "I mean, possibly. I don't know exactly what footage Beetee plans to use."

"Beetee thinks he's found a way to break into the feed nationwide," says Louis. "So that our propos will  
air in the Capitol, too. He's down working on it in Special Defense now. There's live programming tonight. Snow's making an appearance or something. I think it's starting."

The Capitol seal appears, underscored by the anthem. We are staring directly into President Snow's snake eyes as he greets the nation. He seems barricaded be behind his podium, but the white rose in his lapel is in full view. The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," Katniss whispers. Finnick grasps her hand.

Peeta begins to speak in a frustrated tone about the need for the cease-fire. He highlights the damage done to key infrastructure in various districts, and as he speaks, parts of the map light up, showing images of the destruction. A broken dam in 7. A derailed train with a pool of toxic waste spilling from the tank cars. A granary collapsing after a fire. All of these he attributes to rebel action.

Bam! Without warning, Katniss is suddenly on television, standing in the rubble of a bakery.

Plutarch jumps to his feet. "He did it! Beetee broke in!"

The room's buzzing with reaction when Peeta's back, distracted. He has seen Katniss on the monitor. He tries to pick up his speech by moving on to the bombing of a water purification plant, when a clip of me and Finnick talking about Rue replaces him. And then the whole thing breaks down into a broadcast battle, as the Capitol tech masters try to fend off Beetee's attack. But they are unprepared, and Beetee, apparently anticipating he would not hold on to control, has an arsenal of five- to ten-second clips to work with. We watch the official presentation deteriorate as it's peppered with choice shots from the propos.

Plutarch's in spasms of delight and most everybody is cheering Beetee on. I meet Finnick's eyes from across the room and see my own dread mirrored back. The recognition that with every cheer, Peeta slips even farther from our grasp.

The Capitol seal's back up, accompanied by a flat audio tone. This lasts about twenty seconds before Snow and Peeta return. The set is in turmoil. We're hearing frantic exchanges from their booth. Snow plows forward, saying that clearly the rebels are now attempting to disrupt the dissemination of information they find incriminating, but both truth and justice will reign. The full broadcast will resume when security has been reinstated. He asks Peeta if, given tonight's demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of her name, Peeta's face contorts in effort. "Katniss...how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you...in Thirteen..." He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. "You'll be dead by morning!"

Off camera, Snow orders, "End it!"

Beetee throws the whole thing into chaos by flashing a still shot of her standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta's attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that's inseparable from Peeta's cry of pain.  
And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	13. Attack of 13

A voice calls the others to attention. "Shut up!" Every pair of eyes falls on Haymitch. "It's not some big mystery! The boy's telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."

"How would he have that information?"

"Why should we trust him?"

"How do you know?"

Haymitch gives a growl of frustration. "They're beating him bloody while we speak. What more do you need? Katniss, help me out here!"

"Haymitch's right. I don't know where Peeta got the information. Or if it's true. But he believes it is. And they're--"

"You don't know him," Haymitch says to Coin. "We do. Get your people ready."

The president doesn't seem alarmed, only somewhat perplexed, by this turn in events. She mulls over the  
words, tapping one finger lightly on the rim of the control board in front of her. When she speaks, she addresses Haymitch in an even voice. "Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario. Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to the Capitol's cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And, of course, they invite a counterstrike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks."

"You think so?" says Haymitch.

"I do. At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill," says Coin. "Let's proceed with the lockdown." She begins to type rapidly on her keyboard, authorizing her decision. The moment she raises her head, it begins.

There have been one low-level drills since I arrived in 13. I don't remember much about it. I was in intensive care in the hospital and I think the patients were exempted, as the complications of removing us for a practice drill outweighed the benefits. This experience hasn't prepared me for the wordless, eardrum- piercing, fear-inducing sirens that now permeate 13. There would be no disregarding this sound, which seems designed to throw the whole population into a frenzy. But this is 13 and that doesn't happen.  
Liam guides Finnick, Katniss and me out of Command, along the hall to a doorway, and onto a wide stairway. Streams of people are converging to form a river that flows only downward. No one shrieks or tries to push ahead. Even the children don't resist. We descend, flight after flight, speechless, because no word could be heard above this sound.

My ears pop and my eyes feel heavy. We are coal-mine deep. The only plus is that the farther we retreat into the earth, the less shrill the sirens become. It's as if they were meant to physically drive us away from the surface, which I suppose they are. Groups of people begin to peel off into marked doorways and still Liam directs me downward, until finally the stairs end at the edge of an enormous cavern. I start to walk straight in and Liam stops me, shows me that I must wave my schedule in front of a scanner so that I'm accounted for. No doubt the information's going to some computer somewhere to make sure no one's gone astray.

The place seems unable to decide if it's natural or man-made. Certain areas of the walls are stone, while steel beams and concrete heavily reinforce others. Sleeping bunks are hewn right into the rock walls. There's a kitchen, bathrooms, a first-aid station. This place was designed for an extended stay.  
White signs with letters or numbers are placed at intervals around the cavern. As Liam tells Finnick, Katniss and I to report to the area that matches our assigned quarters.

Our space consists of a twelve-by-twelve-foot square of stone  
floor delineated by painted lines. Carved into the wall are two bunks and a ground-level cube space for storage. A piece of white paper, coated in clear plastic, reads BUNKER PROTOCOL. I stare fixedly at the little black specks on the sheet. The first section is entitled "On Arrival."

1\. Make sure all members of your Compartment are accounted for.

Louis has not arrived, but I was one of the first people to reach the bunker.

2\. Go to the Supply Station and secure one pack for each member of your Compartment. Ready your Living Area. Return pack(s).

I scan the cavern until I locate the Supply Station, a deep room set off by a counter. People wait behind it, but there's not a lot of activity there yet. I walk over, give our compartment number, and request two packs. A man checks a sheet, pulls the specified packs from shelving, and swings them up onto the counter. After sliding one on my back and getting a grip on the other, I turn around. "Excuse me," I say as I carry my supplies through the others.

Back at our space, I open one of the packs to find a thin mattress, bedding, two sets of gray clothing, a toothbrush, a comb, and a flashlight. On examining the contents of the other packs, I find the only discernible difference is that they contain both gray and white outfits.

3\. Await further instructions.

I sit cross-legged on the floor to await. A steady flow of people begins to fill the room, claiming spaces, collecting supplies. It won't take long until the place is full up.

when Louis appears. I look behind him into a sea of strangers. "Where have you been?" I ask.

"I was with Coin." He answers.

"Really? With Coin?"

Practically everyone withdrew to their spaces when the doors shut. I crouch, my back supported by the wall. The faint sound of the sirens cuts off sharply. Coin's voice comes over the district audio system, thanking us all for an exemplary evacuation of the upper levels. She stresses that this is not a drill, as Peeta Mellark, the District 12 victor, has possibly made a televised reference to an attack on 13 tonight.

That's when the first bomb hits. There's an initial sense of impact followed by an explosion that resonates in my innermost parts, the lining of my intestines, the marrow of my bones, the roots of my teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is really small  
> but I had to cut this part in two.  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	14. A Bunker Missile

We're all going to die, I think. My eyes turn upward, expecting to see giant cracks race across the ceiling, massive chunks of stone raining down on us, but the bunker itself gives only a slight shudder. The lights go out and I experience the disorientation of total darkness. Speechless human sounds--spontaneous shrieks, ragged breaths, baby whimpers, one musical bit of insane laughter--dance around in the charged air.

Then there's a hum of a generator, and a dim wavering glow replaces the stark lighting that is the norm in 13.

I reach for Louis in the twilight, clamp my hand on his leg, and pull myself over to him.

Louis wraps his arms around me. I allow myself to feel young for a moment and rest my head on his shoulder. "That was nothing like the bombs in Eight," I say.

"Probably a bunker missile," says Louis. "We learned about them during the orientation for new citizens. They're designed to penetrate deep in the ground before they go off. Because there's no point in bombing Thirteen on the surface anymore."

"Nuclear?" I ask, feeling a chill run through me.

"Not necessarily," says Louis. "Some just have a lot of explosives in them. But...it could be either kind, I guess."

The gloom makes it hard to see the heavy metal doors at the end of the bunker. Would they be any protection against a nuclear attack? And even if they were one hundred percent effective at sealing out the radiation, which is really unlikely, would we ever be able to leave this place? I want to run madly for the door and demand to be released into whatever lies above. It's pointless. They would never let me out.

"We're so far down, I'm sure we're safe," says Louis. "It was a close call, though. Thank goodness Peeta had the wherewithal to warn us."

Peeta seemed to have been waging a sort of battle in his mind, fighting to get the message out. Why? Was his difficulty a result of his torture? Something more? Like madness?

Coin's voice fills the bunker, the volume level flickering with the lights. "Apparently, Peeta Mellark's information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate the first missile was not nuclear, but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack, citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified."

We're given clearance in small groups to use the bathroom and brush our teeth, although showering has been canceled for the day. Louis passes in front of another sleeping space and makes sure that his family is okay.

I curl up with Louis on the mattress, double layering the blankets because the cavern emits a dank chill.

"Do you think that president Snow will kill Peeta?" I ask.

"I don't think he will kill him," he says. "If he does, he won't have anyone left she wants . He won't have any way to hurt Katniss."

Suddenly, I am reminded of another girl, one who had seen all the evil the Capitol had to offer. Johanna Mason, the tribute from District 7, in the last arena. I was trying to prevent her from going into the jungle where the jabberjays mimicked the voices of loved ones being tortured, but she brushed me off, saying, "They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love."

"So, what do you think they'll do to him?" I ask.

"Whatever it takes to break her."

"Snow already took my family. I hope that he will not take you too." I say to Louis.

Louis wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. "I'm here and will always be." He says.

Four more bunker missiles fall over this period, all massive, all very damaging, but there's no urgency to the attack. The bombs are spread out over the long hours so that just when you think the raid is over, another blast sends shock waves through your guts. It feels more designed to keep us in lockdown than to decimate 13. Cripple the district, yes. Give the people plenty to do to get the place running again. But destroy it? No. Coin was right on that point. You don't destroy what you want to acquire in the future. I assume what they really want, in the short term, is to stop the Airtime Assaults and keep Katniss off the televisions of Panem.

We receive next to no information about what is happening. Our screens never come on, and we get only brief audio updates from Coin about the nature of the bombs. Certainly, the war is still being waged, but as to its status, we're in the dark.

Inside the bunker, cooperation is the order of the day. We adhere to a strict schedule for meals and bathing, exercise and sleep. Small periods of socialization are granted to alleviate the tedium.

Louis and I sit under the safety light in our space. Finnick and Katniss join us.

"They're using Peeta to breaks me." Katniss says. She whispers her discovery of Snow's plan to break her. I look at Finnick who's sitting beside me, knotting his rope. This strategy is very old news to him. It's what broke him.

"This is what they're doing to you with Annie, isn't it?" I ask.

"Well, they didn't arrest her because they thought she'd be a wealth of rebel information," he says. "They know I'd never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection."

"Oh, Finnick. I'm so sorry," Katniss says.

"No, I'm sorry. That I didn't warn you somehow," he tells her. "And it's the same with your family, Harry. Snow is using them to break you. That's is plan." He tells us.

I realize that it's true, Snow is using my family. I let out a sob and feel Louis's hand on my back.

"You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they'd use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow," Katniss says.

"I shouldn't have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn't warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should've shut up about how Snow operates." Finnick yanks on the end of his rope, and an intricate knot becomes a straight line again. "It's just that I didn't understand when I met you. After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act on your part. We all expected you'd continue that strategy. But it wasn't until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I--" Finnick hesitates.

"That you what?" She asks.

"That I knew I'd misjudged you. That you do love him. I'm not saying in what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him," he says gently.

We sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, "How do you bear it?"

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. "I don't, Harry! Obviously, I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking."

Something in my expression stops him. "Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

With twenty-four hours of quiet behind us, Coin finally announces we can leave the bunker. Our old quarters have been destroyed by the bombings. Everyone must follow exact directions to their new compartments. We clean our spaces, as directed, and file obediently toward the door Before I'm halfway there, Liam appears and pulls me from the line. He signals for Louis, Katniss and Finnick to join us.

People move aside to let us by. Out the door, up the stairs, down the hall to one of those multidirectional elevators, and finally we arrive at Special Defense. Nothing along our route has been damaged, but we are still very deep.

Liam ushers us into a room virtually identical to Command. Coin, Plutarch, Haymitch, Cressida, and everybody else around the table looks exhausted. Someone has finally broken out the coffee and Plutarch has both hands wrapped tightly around his cup as if at any moment it might be taken away.

There's no small talk. "We need all four of you suited up and aboveground," says the president.   
"You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen's military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?"

"Can we have a coffee?" asks Finnick.

-

The cast and crew of the next propos are making the circuitous trek to the outside. After climbing a final ladder, Liam hits a lever that opens a trapdoor. Fresh air rushes in.  
We emerge into the woods, and my hands run through the leaves overhead. Some are just starting to turn. "What day is it?" I ask no one in particular. Liam tells me September begins next week.

Debris begins to litter the forest floor. We come to our first crater, thirty yards wide and I can't tell how deep. Very. Liam says anyone on the first ten levels would likely have been killed. We skirt the pit and continue on.

"Can you rebuild it?" Louis asks.

"Not anytime soon. That one didn't get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm," says Liam. "We'll just seal it off."

The trees disappear as we enter the area inside the fence. The craters are ringed with a mixture of old and new rubble. Before the bombing, very little of the current 13 was aboveground. A few guard stations. The training area. About a foot of the top floor of our building with several feet of steel on top of it. Even that was never meant to withstand more than a superficial attack.

"How much of an edge did the boy's warning give you?" asks Haymitch.

"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," says Liam.

"But it did help, right?" Katniss asks.

"Absolutely," Liam replies. "Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack.  
Ten minutes meant lives saved."

Cressida has the idea to film Katniss in front of the ruins of the old Justice Building, which is something of a joke since the Capitol's been using it as a backdrop for fake news broadcasts for years, to show that the district no longer existed. Now, with the recent attack, the Justice Building sits about ten yards away from the edge of a new crater.

We approach what used to be the grand entrance.

"So, what exactly do you need from me again?" She asks.

"Just a few quick lines that show you're alive and still fighting," says Cressida.

"Okay." She takes her position and then she's staring into the red light. Staring. "I'm sorry, I've got nothing."

I walk up to her. "You feeling okay?" She nods.

Cressida pulls a small cloth from her pocket and blots her face. "How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?"

"Yeah. That would help, I think." She cross her arms.

Cressida's back in position now. "So, Katniss. You've survived the Capitol bombing of Thirteen. How did it  
compare with what you experienced on the ground in Eight?"

"We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger. Thirteen's alive and well and so am--" Her voice cuts off in a dry, squeaking sound.

"Try the line again," says Cressida. "'Thirteen's alive and well and so am I.'"

"Thirteen's alive and so--"

"Katniss, just this one line and you're done today. I promise," says Cressida. "'Thirteen's alive and well and so am I.'"

"Cut," I hear Cressida say quietly.

"What's wrong with her?" Plutarch says under his breath.

"She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta," I say.

She starts panicking.  
-

I sit on the bed of my new compartment, when Finnick opens the door.

"Is she okay?" I ask.

"They gave something to her." Finnick says and sits beside me. He squeezes my shoulder. "It's all right. We're going to try to get them out."

"What?" That makes no sense.

"Plutarch's sending in a rescue team. He has people on the inside. He thinks we can get Peeta and Annie back alive," he says.

"And my family?"

"Your family too."

"Why didn't we before?" I say.

"Because it's costly. But everyone agrees this is the thing to do. It's the same choice we made in the arena.  
To do whatever it takes to keep Katniss going. We can't lose the Mockingjay now. And she can't perform unless she know Snow can't take it out on Peeta." Finnick says.

"What do you mean, costly?"

He shrugs. "Covers will be blown. People may die. But keep in mind that they're dying every day." He says. "Liam left to arrange the mission to get them. We're officially in reruns."

"Well, if Liam is leading it, that's a plus," I say.

"Oh, he's on top of it. It was volunteer only, but he pretended not to notice me waving my hand in the air," says Finnick. "See? He's already demonstrated good judgment."

Something's wrong. Finnick trying a little too hard to cheer me up. "So who else volunteered?"

"I think there were seven altogether," he says evasively.

I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Who else, Finnick?" I insist.

Finnick finally drops the good-natured act. "You know who else, Harry. You know who stepped up first." Of course I do.  
Louis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	15. Rescue Mission

Today I might lose him.  
I try to imagine a world where Louis's voice have ceased. Hands stilled. Eyes unblinking. I'm standing over his bodie, having a last look, leaving the room where he lie.

"I want to go to the Capitol. I want to be part of the rescue mission." I say.

"They're gone," says Finnick.

"How long ago did they leave? I could catch up. I could--"

Finnick shakes his head. "It'll never happen. You're too vulnerable."

"Please, Finnick!" I'm begging now. "I have to do something. I can't just sit here waiting to hear if he died. There must be something I can do!"

"They still need post-bombing footage of 13. If we can get it in the next few hours, Beetee can air it leading up to the rescue, and maybe keep the Capitol's attention elsewhere."

"Yes, a distraction," I say.

"What we really need is something so riveting that even President Snow won't be able to tear himself" He says.

-  
I decide to do the post-bombing footage and explain to the districts what happened.

After that, I take a seat on a fallen marble pillar, watching Finnick in front of the camera.

"President Snow used to...sell me...my body, that is," Finnick begins in a flat, removed tone. "I wasn't the  
only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it."

"I wasn't the only one, but I was the most popular," he says. "And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment."

"Secrets," he says. "And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others."

Finnick begins to weave a tapestry so rich in detail that you can't doubt its authenticity. Tales of strange sexual appetites, betrayals of the heart, bottomless greed, and bloody power plays. Drunken secrets whispered over damp pillow-cases in the dead of night. Finnick was someone bought and sold. A district slave. A handsome one, certainly, but in reality, harmless. Who would he tell? And who would believe him if he did? But some secrets are too delicious not to share. If a bad haircut can lead to hours of gossip, what will charges of incest, back-stabbing, blackmail, and arson produce? Even as the waves of shock and recrimination roll over the Capitol, the people there will be waiting, as I am now, to hear about the president.

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow," says Finnick. "Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. Poison." Finnick goes back to Snow's political ascension, which I know nothing of, and works his way up to the present, pointing out case after case of the mysterious deaths of Snow's adversaries or, even worse, his allies who had the potential to become threats. People dropping dead at a feast or slowly, inexplicably declining into shadows over a period of months. Blamed on bad shellfish, elusive viruses, or an overlooked weakness in the aorta. Snow drinking from the poisoned cup himself to deflect suspicion. But antidotes don't always work. They say that's why he wears the roses that reek of perfume. They say it's to cover the scent of blood from the mouth sores that will never heal. They say, they say, they say...Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next.

Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake. This seems to have far more effect on the displaced Capitol rebels like Fulvia, even Plutarch occasionally reacts in surprise, maybe wondering how a specific tidbit passed him by. When Finnick finishes, they just keep the cameras rolling until finally he has to be the one to say "Cut."  
The crew hurries inside to edit the material, and Plutarch leads Finnick off for a chat, probably to see if he has any more stories. I'm left with Haymitch and Katniss in the rubble, wondering if Finnick's fate would have one day been mine. Why not? Snow could have gotten a really good price for the Baby of the games.

"Is that what happened to you?" Katniss asks Haymitch.

"No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field," he answers. "Snow had no one to use against me."

"I'm surprised he didn't just kill you," I say.

"Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johannas and Cashmeres or even you, Harry. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems," says Haymitch. "But he knew he had no leverage against me."

"Until Peeta and I came along," Katniss says softly. She don't even get a shrug in return.

With our job done, there's nothing left for Finnick, Katniss and me to do but wait. We try to fill the dragging minutes in Special Defense. Tie knots. Push our lunch around our bowls. Blow things up on the shooting range. Because of the danger of detection, no communication comes from the rescue team.

At 15:00, the designated hour, we stand tense and silent in the back of a room full of screens and computers and watch Beetee and his team try to dominate the airwaves. His usual fidgety distraction is replaced with a determination I have never seen. Most of my and Katniss interviews doesn't make the cut. It is Finnick's salacious and gory account of the Capitol that takes the day. Is Beetee's skill improving? Or are his counterparts in the Capitol a little too fascinated to want to tune Finnick out? For the next sixty minutes, the Capitol feed alternates between the standard afternoon newscast, Finnick, and attempts to black it all out. But the rebel techno team manages to override even the latter and, in a real coup, keeps control for almost the entire attack on Snow.

"Let it go!" says Beetee, throwing up his hands, relinquishing the broadcast back to the Capitol. He mops his face with a cloth. "If they're not out of there by now, they're all dead." He spins in his chair to see Finnick, Katniss and me reacting to his words. "It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?"

Of course not. Beetee takes us to another room and shows us how the team, with the help of rebel insiders, will attempt, has attempted, to free the victors from an underground prison. It seems to have involved knockout gas distributed by the ventilation system, a power failure, the detonation of a bomb in a government building several miles from the prison, and now the disruption of the broadcast. Beetee's glad we find the plan hard to follow, because then our enemies will, too.

"Like your electricity trap in the arena?" I ask.

"Exactly. And see how well that worked out?" says Beetee.

Well...not really, I think.

Finnick, Katniss and I try to station ourselves in Command, where surely first word of the rescue will come, but we are barred because serious war business is being carried out. We refuse to leave Special Defense and end up waiting in the hummingbird room for news.

Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Louis. Do not think of your family. Making knots. We do not want dinner. Fingers raw and bleeding. Katniss finally gives up and assumes the hunched position he took in the arena when the jabberjays attacked.

"Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?" Katniss asks.

"No." A long time passes before he adds, "She crept up on me."

It must be midnight, it must be tomorrow when Haymitch pushes open the door. "They're back. We're  
wanted in the hospital." My mouth opens with a flood of questions that he cuts off with "That's all I know."  
I want to run, but Finnick's acting so strange, as if he's lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead  
him like a small child. Through Special Defense, into the elevator that goes this way and that, and on to the hospital wing. The place is in an uproar, with doctors shouting orders and the wounded being wheeled through the halls in their beds.

We're sideswiped by a gurney bearing an unconscious, emaciated young woman with a shaved head. Her flesh shows bruises and oozing scabs. Johanna Mason. Who actually knew rebel secrets. And this is how she has paid for it.

Through a doorway, I catch a glimpse of Louis, stripped to the waist, perspiration streaming down his face as a doctor removes something from under his shoulder blade with a long pair of tweezers. Wounded, but alive. I call his name, start toward him until a nurse pushes me back and shuts me out.

"Finnick!" Something between a shriek and a cry of joy. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman, dark tangled hair, sea green eyes, runs toward us in nothing but a sheet. "Finnick!" And suddenly, it's as if there's no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible.

Liam, looking a little worse for wear but uninjured, finds Katniss and me. "We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she's from Two, we doubt she's being held anyway." He says and turns to Katniss. "Peeta's at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes."

"Harry!"  
I turn around and Look at Gemma who's sitting on a hospital bed. I run toward her and hug her tight.

"You're alive!" I say and start sobbing in her arms. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm alive. So is mom. We're safe now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	16. Tracker Jacker Venom

My mom and Gemma are put in the same hospital room. They both lost a lot a weight and Gemma's hair are shorter then ever. Their bodies are bruised and they're really weak.

I sleep at the hospital beside them just because I can't leave them again. Not after everything

In the morning, Plutarch comes in the room and ask me to follow him.

I follow him to another room and see Katniss, laying in the hospital bed. I look at her and realize that she has a collar on her neck. They tell me about what Peeta did when he saw her. He tried to kill her.

I take a seat beside the bed, when her sister enters the room. "I think they'll take the collar off soon, Katniss. You won't be so cold then."

Plutarch ushers the doctors out and tries to order Prim to go as well, but she says, "No. If you force me to leave, I'll go directly to surgery and tell my mother everything that's happened. And I warn you, she doesn't think much of a Gamemaker calling the shots on Katniss's life. Especially when you've taken such poor care of her."

Plutarch looks offended, but Haymitch chuckles. "I'd let it go, Plutarch," he says. Prim stays.

"So, Katniss, Peeta's condition has come as a shock to all of us," says Plutarch. "We couldn't help but notice his deterioration in the last two interviews. Obviously, he'd been abused, and we put his psychological state down to that. Now we believe something more was going on. That the Capitol has been subjecting him to a rather uncommon technique known as hijacking. Beetee?"

"I'm sorry," Beetee says, "but I can't tell you all the specifics of it, Katniss. The Capitol's very secretive about this form of torture, and I believe the results are inconsistent. This we do know. It's a type of fear conditioning. The term hijack comes from an old English word that means 'to capture,' or even better, 'seize.' We believe it was chosen because the technique involves the use of tracker jacker venom, and the jack suggested hijack. You were stung in your first Hunger Games, so unlike most of us, you have firsthand knowledge of the effects of the venom."

"I'm sure you remember how frightening it was. Did you also suffer mental confusion in the aftermath?" asks Beetee. "A sense of being unable to judge what was true and what was false? Most people who have been stung and lived to tell about it report something of the kind."

"Recall is made more difficult because memories can be changed." Beetee taps his forehead. "Brought to the forefront of your mind, altered, and saved again in the revised form. Now imagine that I ask you to remember something, either with a verbal suggestion or by making you watch a tape of the event, and while that experience is refreshed, I give you a dose of tracker jacker venom. Not enough to induce a three-day blackout. Just enough to infuse the memory with fear and doubt. And that's what your brain puts in long-term storage."

"Is that what they've done to Peeta? Taken his memories of Katniss and distorted them so they're scary?" I ask.

Beetee nods. "So scary that he'd see her as life-threatening. That he might try to kill her. Yes, that's our current theory."

"But you can reverse it, right?" asks Prim.

"Um...very little data on that," says Plutarch. "None, really. If hijacking rehabilitation has been attempted before, we have no access to those records."

"Well, you're going to try, aren't you?" I persist. "You're not just going to lock him up in some padded room and leave him to suffer?"

"Of course, we'll try, Harry," says Beetee. "It's just, we don't know to what degree we'll succeed. If any. My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all."

"And apart from his memories of Katniss, we don't yet know what else has been tampered with," says Plutarch. "We're putting together a team of mental health and military professionals to come up with a counterattack. I, personally, feel optimistic that he'll make a full recovery."

"Do you?" asks Prim caustically. "And what do you think, Haymitch?"

I can see his expression. He's exhausted and discouraged as he admits, "I think Peeta might get somewhat better. But...I don't think he'll ever be the same."

"At least he's alive," says Plutarch, as if he's losing patience with the lot of us. "Snow executed Peeta's stylist and his prep team on live television tonight. We've no idea what happened to Effie Trinket. Peeta's damaged, but he's here. With us. And that's a definite improvement over his situation twelve hours ago. Let's keep that in mind, all right?"

I go back to my mom and sister room and take care of them, coaxing them to swallow bites of soft food. People come in periodically to give me updates on Peeta's condition. The high levels of tracker jacker venom are working their way out of his body. He's being treated only by strangers, natives of 13, no one from home or the Capitol has been allowed to see him, to keep any dangerous memories from triggering. A team of specialists works long hours designing a strategy for his recovery.

The next morning, I decide to get out of the hospital since Gemma and mom were sleeping. I'm not imprinted with a schedule, so I wander around aimlessly until Louis's excused his schedule to take me to our latest compartment. 2226. Identical to the last one.

Louis sits on the bed beside me, "How's your family."

"Well, they're already starting to get better. I try not to imagine what they did to them... And you, how are you?"

"I'm fine. My shoulder is just a little bit sore." He says.

"You should have told me before going. I was sure you were going to die." I say.

"I know but after Katniss's breakdown, I saw how you were struggling with the thought of your family in the Capitol."

"I was waiting for you, Louis. You should have told me."

"I know. I'm sorry." He says sincerely

—

"We need you back up at the hospital." Finnick says.

"What for? Is my family okay?" I ask.

"It's not your family, Harry. They're going to try something on Peeta," he answers. "Send in the most innocuous person from Twelve they can come up with. Find someone Peeta might share childhood memories with, but nothing too close to Katniss. They're screening people now."

I know that it will be difficult because Katniss had told me that almost none of those people escaped the flames. But when we reach the hospital room that has been turned into a work space for Peeta's recovery team, there he sits chatting with Plutarch.  
Louis.

"Harry!" He says, giving me that perfect smile of his.

"Are you the one they've picked to see Peeta?" I ask.

"Yeah. He was my friend back in district 12."

"Really? I didn't know that." I say. But it doesn't shock me that much since I knew that district 12 wasn't a big district and Louis was probably at the same school.

"Louis's known Peeta for a long time," says Plutarch.

"Oh, yes!" Says Louis. "We played together with Delly when we were little."

"What do you think?" Haymitch asks Katniss. "Anything that might trigger memories of you?"

"We were all in the same class. But we never overlapped much," Katniss says. "I don't think Peeta could have bad memories associated with him."

"Let's give it a shot."

Plutarch, Haymitch, Katniss and I go to the observation room next to where Peeta's confined. It's crowded with ten members of his recovery team armed with pens and clipboards. The one-way glass and audio setup allow us to watch Peeta secretly. He lies on the bed, his arms strapped down. He doesn't fight the restraints, but his hands fidget continuously.

When the door quietly opens, his eyes widen in alarm, then become confused. Louis crosses the room tentatively, but as he nears him he naturally breaks into a smile. "Peeta? It's Louis. From home."  
"Louis?" Some of the clouds seem to clear. "Louis. It's you."

"Yes!" he says with obvious relief. "How do you feel?"

"Awful. Where are we? What's happened?" asks Peeta.

"Here we go," says Haymitch.

"I told him to steer clear of any mention of Katniss or the Capitol," says Plutarch. "Just see how much of home he could conjure up."

"Well...we're in District Thirteen. We live here now," says Louis.

"That's what those people have been saying. But it makes no sense. Why aren't we home?" asks Peeta.

I can see Louis struggling with his answer, "There was...an accident. I miss home badly, too. I was only just thinking about those chalk drawings we used to do on the paving stones. Yours were so wonderful. Remember when you made each one a different animal?"

"Yeah. Pigs and cats and things," says Peeta. "You said...about an accident?"

I can see the sheen of sweat on Louis's forehead as he tries to work around the question. "It was bad. No one...could stay," he says haltingly.

"Hang in there, boy," says Haymitch.

"But I know you're going to like it here, Peeta. The people have been really nice to us. There's always food and clean clothes, and school's much more interesting," says Louis.

"Why hasn't my family come to see me?" Peeta asks.

"They can't." Says Louis quietly, "A lot of people didn't get out of Twelve. So we'll need to make a new life here. I'm sure they could use a good baker. Do you remember when your father used to let us make dough?"

"There was a fire," Peeta says suddenly.

"Yes," he whispers.

"Twelve burned down, didn't it? Because of her," says Peeta angrily.   
"Because of Katniss!" He begins to pull on the restraints.

"Oh, no, Peeta. It wasn't her fault," says Louis.

"Did she tell you that?" he hisses at her.

"Get him out of there," says Plutarch. The door opens immediately and Louis begins to back toward it  
slowly.

"She didn't have to. I was--" Louis begins.

"Because she's lying! She's a liar! You can't believe anything she says! She's some kind of mutt the Capitol  
created to use against the rest of us!" Peeta shouts.

"No, Peeta. She's not a--" Louis tries again.

"Don't trust her, Louis," says Peeta in a frantic voice. "I did, and she tried to kill me. She killed my friends.  
My family. Don't even go near her! She's a mutt!"

A hand reaches through the doorway, pulls Louis out, and the door swings shut. But Peeta keeps yelling. "A  
mutt! She's a stinking mutt!"

Around us the recovery team members scribble like crazy, taking down every word. I get out of the room while Haymitch and Plutarch grab Katniss's arms and propel her out of the room. They lean her up against a wall in the silent hallway.

"I can't stay here anymore," She says numbly. "If you want me to be the Mockingjay, you'll have to send me away."

"Where do you want to go?" asks Haymitch.

"The Capitol."

"Can't do it," Plutarch says. "Not until all the districts are secure. Good news is, the fighting's almost over in all of them but Two. It's a tough nut to crack, though."

"Fine," She says. "Send us to Two."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter  
> and don't forget to leave a comment  
> if you like it.  
> Ari xxx


	17. Control from the Capitol

A week after Katniss' departure, Louis and I are sent to District 2.

In district 2, the outer villages are in rebel hands, the town divided, and the Nut— the mountain that houses the heart of the Capitol's military.  
We've nicknamed the mountain the Nut— is as untouchable as ever. Its few entrances heavily fortified, its heart safely enfolded in the mountain. While every other district has now wrested control from the Capitol, 2 remains in its pocket.

When we arrive in district 2, we're ask for a meeting. Louis and I avoid the conference table and perch in the wide windowsill that has a view of the mountain in question. The commander from 2, a middle-aged woman named Lyme, takes us on a virtual tour of the Nut, its interior and fortifications, and recounts the failed attempts to seize it.

"The next person who suggests we take the entrances better have a brilliant way to do it, because you're going to be the one leading that mission!" She says.

In the silence that follows Lyme's ultimatum, Gale, Katniss' friend, speaks up. "Is it really so necessary that we take the Nut? Or would it be enough to disable it?"

"That would be a step in the right direction," says Beetee. "What do you have in mind?"

"Think of it as a wild dog den," Gale continues. "You're not going to fight your way in. So you have two choices. Trap the dogs inside or flush them out."

"We've tried bombing the entrances," says Lyme. "They're set too far inside the stone for any real damage to be done."

"I wasn't thinking of that," says Gale. "I was thinking of using the mountain." Beetee rises and joins Gale at the window, peering through his ill-fitting glasses. "See? Running down the sides?"

"Avalanche paths," says Beetee under his breath. "It'd be tricky. We'd have to design the detonation sequence with great care, and once it's in motion, we couldn't hope to control it."

"We don't need to control it if we give up the idea that we have to possess the Nut," says Gale. "Only shut it down."

"So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" asks Lyme.

"That's it," says Gale. "Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft."

While everyone considers the plan, Liam flips through a stack of blueprints of the Nut and frowns. "You risk killing everyone inside. Look at the ventilation system. It's rudimentary at best. Nothing like what we have in Thirteen. It depends entirely on pumping in air from the mountainsides. Block those vents and you'll suffocate whoever is trapped."

"They could still escape through the train tunnel to the square," says Beetee.

"Not if we blow it up," says Gale brusquely. His intent, his full intent, becomes clear. Gale has no interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut.

The implications of what Gale is suggesting settle quietly around the room. You can see the reaction playing out on people's faces. The expressions range from pleasure to distress, from sorrow to satisfaction.

"The majority of the workers are citizens from Two," says Beetee neutrally.

"So what?" says Gale. "We'll never be able to trust them again."

"They should at least have a chance to surrender," says Lyme.

"Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they fire-bombed Twelve, but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here," says Gale. By the look on Lyme's face, I think she might shoot him, or at least take a swing. She'd probably have the upper hand, too, with all her training. But her anger only seems to infuriate him and he yells, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do!"

"Gale," Katniss says, taking his arm and trying to speak in a reasonable tone. "The Nut's an old mine. It'd be like causing a massive coal mining accident."

"But not so quick as the one that killed our fathers," he retorts. "Is that everyone's problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?"

"You don't know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut," I decide to speak up. "They may have been coerced. They may be held against their will. Some are our own spies. Will you kill them, too?"

"I would sacrifice a few, yes, to take out the rest of them," he replies. "And if I were a spy in there, I'd say, 'Bring on the avalanches!'"

"You said we had two choices," Liam tells him. "To trap them or to flush them out. I say we try to avalanche the mountain but leave the train tunnel alone. People can escape into the square, where we'll be waiting for them."

"Heavily armed, I hope," says Gale.   
"You can be sure they'll be."

"Heavily armed. We'll take them prisoner," agrees Liam.

"Let's bring Thirteen into the loop now," Beetee suggests. "Let President Coin weigh in."

"She'll want to block the tunnel," says Gale with conviction.

"Yes, most likely. But you know, Peeta did have a point in his propos. About the dangers of killing ourselves off. I've been playing with some numbers. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded and...I think it's at least worth a conversation," says Beetee.

Only a handful of people are invited to be part of that conversation. Louis and I are released with the rest.

The call does happen, a decision is made, and by evening we're suited up, with our bow slung over our shoulder and an earpiece that connects us to Haymitch in 13. We wait on the roof of the Justice Building with a clear view of our target.

Our hoverplanes are initially ignored by the commanders in the Nut, because in the past they've been little more trouble than flies buzzing around a honeypot. But after two rounds of bombings in the higher elevations of the mountain, the planes have their attention. By the time the Capitol's antiaircraft weapons begin to fire, it's already too late.

Gale's plan exceeds anyone's expectations. Beetee was right about being unable to control the avalanches once they'd been set in motion. The mountainsides are naturally unstable, but weakened by the explosions, they seem almost fluid. Whole sections of the Nut collapse before our eyes, obliterating any sign that human beings have ever set foot on the place. We stand speechless, tiny and insignificant, as waves of stone thunder down the mountain. Burying the entrances under tons of rock. Raising a cloud of dirt and debris that blackens the sky. Turning the Nut into a tomb. 

I imagine the hell inside the mountain. Sirens wailing. Lights flickering into darkness. Stone dust choking the air. The shrieks of panicked, trapped beings stumbling madly for a way out, only to find the entrances, the launchpad, the ventilation shafts themselves clogged with earth and rock trying to force its way in. Live wires flung free, fires breaking out, rubble making a familiar path a maze. People slamming, shoving, scrambling like ants as the hill presses in, threatening to crush their fragile shells.

My knees start to give out and I sink down on them.

Katniss crouches down beside me, her skin pale in the shadows. "We didn't bomb the train tunnel, you know. Some of them will probably get out."

"And then we'll shoot them when they show their faces?" I ask.

"Only if we have to," Liam answers.

"We could send in trains ourselves. Help evacuate the wounded," I say.

"No. It was decided to leave the tunnel in their hands. That way they can use all the tracks to bring people  
out," says Liam. "Besides, it will give us time to get the rest of our soldiers to the square."

A few hours ago, the square was a no-man's-land, the front line of the fight between the rebels and the  
Peacekeepers. When Coin gave approval for Gale's plan, the rebels launched a heated attack and drove the Capitol forces back several blocks so that we would control the train station in the event that the Nut fell. Well, it's fallen. The reality has sunk in. Any survivors will escape to the square. I can hear the gunfire starting again, as the Peacekeepers are no doubt trying to fight their way in to rescue their comrades. Our own soldiers are being brought in to counter this.

"You're cold," says Louis. "I'll see if I can find a blanket." He goes before I can protest.

Night falls quickly. Huge, bright spotlights are turned on, illuminating the square. Every bulb must be burning at full wattage inside the train station as well. Even from my position across the square, I can see clearly through the plate-glass front of the long, narrow building. It would be impossible to miss the arrival of a train, or even a single person. But hours pass and no one comes. With each minute, it becomes harder to imagine that anyone survived the assault on the Nut.

It's well after midnight when the pair of trains comes screeching into the train station side by side. As the doors slide open, people  
tumble out in a cloud of smoke they've brought from the Nut. They must have had at least an inkling of what would await them at the square, because you can see them trying to act evasively. Most of them flatten on the floor, and a spray of bullets inside the station takes out the lights. They've come armed, as Gale predicted, but they've come wounded as well. The moans can be heard in the otherwise silent night air.

A flame blooms inside the station, one of the trains must actually be on fire, and a thick, black smoke billows against the windows. Left with no choice, the people begin to push out into the square, choking but defiantly waving their guns. My eyes dart around the rooftops that ring the square. Every one of them has been fortified with rebel-manned machine gun nests. Moonlight glints off oiled barrels.

I look at Louis and see that he has lift his bow and he's ready to let his arrow fly. I do the same as him.   
A young man staggers out from the station, one hand pressed against a bloody cloth at his cheek, the other dragging a gun. When he trips and falls to his face, I see the scorch marks down the back of his shirt, the red flesh beneath.

Katniss runs down the steps and she takes off running for him. "Stop!" she yells at the rebels. "Hold your fire!"   
The words echo around the square and beyond as the mike amplifies her voice. "Stop!" She's nearing the young man, reaching down to help him, when he drags himself up to his knees and trains his gun on her head.

She instinctively backs up a few steps, raises her bow over her head to show her intention was harmless. Now that he has both hands on his gun.

I realize that this is what all of District 2, all of Panem maybe, must be seeing at the moment. The Mockingjay at the mercy of a man with nothing to lose.

His garbled speech is barely comprehensible. "Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you."

"I can't." She says.

He's perplexed, trying to make sense of her words. "I can't. That's the problem, isn't it?" She lower her bow. "We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them." She drops her bow on the ground and gives it a nudge with her boot. It slides across the stone and comes to rest at his knees.

"I'm not their slave," the man mutters.

"I am," She says. "That's why I killed Cato...and he killed Thresh...and he killed Clove...and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games." She says. "When I saw that mountain fall tonight, I thought...they've done it again. Got me to kill you, the people in the districts. But why did I do it? District Twelve and District Two have no fight except the one the Capitol gave us."

The young man blinks at her uncomprehendingly. She sinks on her knees before him, her voice low and urgent. "And why are you fighting with the rebels on the rooftops? With Lyme, who was your victor? With people who were your neighbors, maybe even your family?"

"I don't know," says the man. But he doesn't take his gun off her.

She rises and turn slowly in a circle, addressing the machine guns. "And you up there? I come from a mining town. Since when do miners condemn other miners to that kind of death, and then stand by to kill whoever manages to crawl from the rubble?"

"These people..." She indicates the wounded bodies on the square "are not your enemy!" She whips back around to the train station. "The rebels are not your enemy! We all have one enemy, and it's the Capitol! This is our chance to put an end to their power, but we need every district person to do it!"

The cameras are tight on her as she reachs out her hands to the man, to the wounded, to the reluctant rebels across Panem. "Please! Join us!"

Her words hang in the air. I look to the screen, hoping to see them recording some wave of reconciliation going through the crowd.

Instead I watch Katniss get shot on television.


	18. Finnick And Annie's Wedding

Liam runs toward me and says, "You have to go inside the justice building. It's not safe here, outside!"

I begin to make my way inside. I descend the stairs and sit at the base of one of the gigantic pillars in the great entrance hall.

Three hours later, as I start to fall asleep, Louis joins me and gives me an update on our current situation.  
"District 2 has allied with us. It was a long night but we finaly made it."

"Is she dead?" I ask.

"No, she's fine. the layers of protective armor in her Mockingjay outfit protected her. But she's in pain right now."

"Broken ribs?" I ask.

"Not even. Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured her spleen. They couldn't repair it. We're sent back in district 13."

—

Rumors of Katniss' death have been running rampant, so they send in the team to film her in her hospital bed. She shows off her stitches and impressive bruising and congratulates the districts on their successful battle for unity. Then She warns the Capitol to expect us soon.

One afternoon, Plutarch joins Louis and I and gives us an update on our current situation. Now that District 2 has allied with us, the rebels are taking a breather from the war to regroup. Fortifying supply lines, seeing to the wounded, reorganizing their troops. The Capitol, like 13 during the Dark Days, finds itself completely cut off from outside help as it holds the threat of nuclear attack over its enemies. Unlike 13, the Capitol is not in a position to reinvent itself and become self- sufficient.

"Oh, the city might be able to scrape along for a while," says Plutarch. "Certainly, there are emergency supplies stockpiled. But the significant difference between Thirteen and the Capitol are the expectations of the populace. Thirteen was used to hardship, whereas in the Capitol, all they've known is Panem et Circenses."

"What's that?" I recognize Panem, of course, but the rest is nonsense.

"It's a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome," he explains. "Panem et Circenses translates into 'Bread and Circuses.' The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power."

I think about the Capitol. The excess of food. And the ultimate entertainment. The Hunger Games. "So that's what the districts are for. To provide the bread and circuses."

"Yes. And as long as that kept rolling in, the Capitol could control its little empire. Right now, it can provide neither, at least at the standard the people are accustomed to," says Plutarch. "We have the food and I'm about to orchestrate an entertainment propo that's sure to be popular. After all, everybody loves a wedding. Finnick and Annie's wedding."

Despite reservations on Coin's side that it's too extravagant, and on Plutarch's side that it's too drab, the wedding is a smash hit. The three hundred lucky guests culled from 13 and the many refugees wear their everyday clothes, the decorations are made from autumn foliage, the music is provided by a choir of children accompanied by the lone fiddler who made it out of 12 with his instrument. So it's simple, frugal by the Capitol's standards. It doesn't matter because nothing can compete with the beauty of the couple. It isn't about their borrowed finery, Annie wears a green silk dress that Katniss wore in district 5 during her victory tour, Finnick one of Peeta's suits that they altered, although the clothes are striking. Who can look past the radiant faces of two people for whom this day was once a virtual impossibility? Dalton, the cattle guy from 10, conducts the ceremony, since it's similar to the one used in his district. But there are unique touches of District 4. A net woven from long grass that covers the couple during their vows, the touching of each other's lips with salt water, and the ancient wedding song, which likens marriage to a sea voyage.

After the kiss that seals the union, the cheers, and a toast with apple cider, the fiddler strikes up a tune. Sure enough, Louis grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the center of the floor and faces off with me. People pour in to join us, forming two long lines. And the dancing begins.

Dancing transforms us. We join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork. Nothing silly, joyful, or fun has happened in so long. This could go on all night.

Suddenly, Louis grabs my hips and leans his face toward mine. His lips brush against mine a few times, breath fanning across my face as I wait for the him to make a move.

I'm surprise at first when he kiss me but then I throw my arms around him, holding him close. His lips are hot against mine and it fell too good to stop.

We pull away when four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. We back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers.

At midnight, Me and Louis doesn't have the time to talk about the kiss because Plutarch ask for us to follow him. When we arrive, Katniss is already there. We're standing outside the door of Peeta's cell. Hospital room. We're all very confuse when Haymitch arrive.

"What's happening to him?" Louis asks.

Haymitch shakes his head. "I don't know. None of us knows. Sometimes he's almost rational, and then, for  
no reason, he goes off again. Doing the wedding cake was a kind of therapy. He's been working on it for days. Watching him...he seemed almost like before."

"So, he's got the run of the place?" Katniss asks.

"Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him," Haymitch says.

"Face-to-face?" I ask. "And he didn't go nuts?"

"No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot."  
Haymitch pauses a moment, as if deciding something. He turns to Katniss, "He says he'd like to see you."

Me, Louis and Haymitch assemble behind the one-way glass. When Haymitch gives Katniss the okay in her earpiece, She slowly opens the door.

His blue eyes lock on her instantly. He's got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn't fight to free himself, though, only observes her with the wary look of someone who still hasn't ruled out that he's in the presence of a mutt. She walks over until she's standing about a yard from the bed. "Hey." She says.

"Hey," he responds.

"Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me," She says.

"Look at you, for starters." It's like he's waiting for her to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. "You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?"

"Well, you've looked better."

"And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through."

"Yeah. We've all been through a lot. And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me."

She's doing everything wrong. Why is she so defensive? He's been tortured! He's been hijacked! What's wrong with her?

"Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow." She says.

She reachs the door but his voice stops her. "Katniss. I remember about the bread."

"They showed you the tape of me talking about it," She says.

"No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?" he asks.

"I made it the day you were rescued," She answers. "So what do you remember?"

"You. In the rain," he says softly.   
"Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead."

"That's it. That's what happened," She says. "The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how."

"We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then...for some  
reason, I think you picked a dandelion." She nods. "I must have loved you a lot."

"You did." her voice catches and she pretends to cough.

"And did you love me?" he asks.

She keeps her eyes on the tiled floor. "Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To  
break me."

"That's not an answer," he tells her. "I don't know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers."

"I was trying to kill all of you," She says. "You had me treed."

"Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks.

"Sometimes," She admits. "You know people are watching us now?"

"I know. What about Gale?" he continues.

"He's not a bad kisser either," She says shortly.

"And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?" he asks.

"No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission," She tells him.

Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. "Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?"

Haymitch doesn't protest when She walks out. I try to follow her but Haymitch grabs my arm, "You should leave her alone for a while. She needs some time." I nod.

"We should go to bed. Training start tommorrow." Louis tells me.


	19. Choosen to go to the Capitol

The next morning, we're report for training at 7:30. Louis, Finnick and I are in an accelerated phase of training because we're already choosen to go to the Capitol. Katniss isn't with us because we heard that Coin didn't want her to go to the Capitol.

After we stretch there's a couple of hours of strengthening exercises and a five-mile run.

In the afternoon, we learn to assemble our guns. I manage it. Even though it's raining a lot we still continue.

We try the shooting range. It takes some time adjusting to a gun, but by the end of the day, Louis and I got the best score in our class.

After Louis takes a shower, he climbs into the bed beside me just as the lights go out.

"Goodnight love." Louis whispers and gives me a quick kiss. I kiss him back. I kiss him like he's the centre of my gravity, falling for him. A hand on the back of my neck. Breathless, tentative, abruptly shy as our panting breaths chase the silence. Our eyes meet. His - soft, a promise that if I fell I would always be caught. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, you." And then he kiss me again. His hand on my back, fingertips pressing under my top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of bare skin that make me break the kiss with a gasp

We're so tired, it will be a miracle if we can get up the next day. But we do. Each morning, we do. And by the end of the week, Soldier York gives Louis, Finnick and I an approving nod as we knock off for the day. "Fine job, Soldiers."

When we move out of hearing, I mutter, "I think winning the Games was easier."

We're in good spirits when we go to the dining hall. Receiving a giant serving of beef stew doesn't hurt my mood either.

We join a group that includes Katniss, Gale, Johanna- who seems to be a lot better-, Annie, and Finnick. It's something to see Finnick's transformation since his marriage. Finnick's real charms of self-effacing humor and an easygoing nature are on display for the first time. He never lets go of Annie's hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to. She's lost in some daze of happiness. There are still moments when you can tell something slips in her brain and another world blinds her to us. But a few words from Finnick call her back.

lf to slow down. All around the dining hall, you can feel the rejuvenating effect that a good meal can bring on. The way it can make people kinder, funnier, more optimistic, and remind them it's not a mistake to go on living. So I try to make it last and join in the conversation. Sop up the gravy on my bread and nibble on it as I listen to Finnick telling some ridiculous story about a sea turtle swimming off with his hat. I realize he's standing there. Directly across the table, behind the empty seat next to Johanna.

"Peeta!" says Louis. "It's so nice to see you out...and about."

Two large guards stand behind him. He holds his tray awkwardly, balanced on his fingertips since his wrists are shackled with a short chain between them.

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" asks Johanna.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet," says Peeta. "I can't even sit here without your permission." He indicates the guards with his head.

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends," says Johanna, patting the space beside her. The guards nod and Peeta takes a seat. "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Annie, who's on Johanna's other side, does that thing where she covers her ears and exits reality. Finnick shoots Johanna an angry look as his arm encircles Annie.  
"What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy," replies Johanna.

The life has gone out of our little party. Finnick murmurs things to Annie until she slowly removes her hands. Then there's a long silence while people pretend to eat.

"Annie," says Louis brightly, "did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing."

Annie cautiously looks across Johanna. "Thank you, Peeta. It was beautiful."

"My pleasure, Annie," says Peeta,

"If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go," Finnick tells her. He arranges both of their trays so he can carry them in one hand while holding tightly to her with the other.

"Good seeing you, Peeta."  
"You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you." It could be a joke, if the tone wasn't so cold.

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving Katniss a concerned glance.

When they're gone, Louis says in a reproachful voice, "He did save your life, Peeta. More than once."

"For her." He gives Katniss a brief nod. "For the rebellion. Not for me. I don't owe him anything."

"Maybe not. But Mags is dead and you're still here. That should count for something." Katniss says.

"Yeah, a lot of things should count for something that don't seem to, Katniss. I've got some memories I can't make sense of, and I don't think the Capitol touched them. A lot of nights on the train, for instance," he says.

Peeta makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Gale and Katniss. "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lover thing?"

"Still dragging," says Johanna.

Spasms cause Peeta's hands to tighten into fists, then splay out in a bizarre fashion.

Gale simply says, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself."

"What's that?" asks Peeta.

"You," Gale answers.

"You'll have to be a little more specific," says Peeta. "What about me?"

"That they've replaced you with the evil-mutt version of yourself," says Johanna.

Gale finishes his milk. "You done?" he asks Katniss. She rise and they cross to drop off their trays.

"Coin wants to see me. I have to go." Louis says and kiss my cheeks. "I'll see you later."

Johanna ignore what just happened and looks at me, "Katniss told me that you found a new friend." She says, talking about Louis.

I smile at her, "Yes. He's some kind of mentor for me." I answer.

"A mentor? I never kissed my mentor but..." She says and my face turns red.

"I hum...what do you mean?" I ask.

"im not great with relationships, but im not blind. you are in love with Louis" she says.


	20. Let the Games begin!

We throw ourselves into training with a vengeance. Eat, live, and breathe the workouts, drills, weapons practice, lectures on tactics. We are moved into an additional class. The soldiers simply call it the Block, but the tattoo on our arm lists it as S.S.C., short for Simulated Street Combat. Deep in 13, they've built an artificial Capitol city block.

The instructor breaks us into squads of eight and we attempt to carry out missions--gaining a position, destroying a target, searching a home- -as if we were really fighting our way through the Capitol. The thing's rigged so that everything that can go wrong for you does. A false step triggers a land mine, a sniper appears on a rooftop, your gun jams, a crying child leads you into an ambush, your squadron leader--who's just a voice on the program--gets hit by a mortar and you have to figure out what to do without orders.

Part of you knows it's fake and that they're not going to kill you. If you set off a land mine, you hear the explosion and have to pretend to fall over dead. But in other ways, it feels pretty real in there--the enemy soldiers dressed in Peacekeepers' uniforms, the confusion of a smoke bomb. They even gas us. Louis and I are the only ones who get our masks on in time. The rest of our squad gets knocked out for ten minutes. And the supposedly harmless gas I took a few lungfuls of gives me a wicked headache for the rest of the day.

Cressida and her crew tape Finnick, Louis and me on the firing range. It's part of a new propos series to show the rebels preparing for the Capitol invasion. On the whole, things are going pretty well. Then Peeta starts showing up for our morning workouts. The manacles are off, but he's still constantly accompanied by a pair of guards. After lunch, I see him across the field, drilling with a group of beginners. I don't know what they're thinking.

We watch the preparations for the invasions. See equipment and provisions readied, divisions assembled.

There is much talk of the opening offensive, which will be to secure the train tunnels that feed up into the Capitol.  
Just a few days before the first troops are to move out, I'm asked at the Command.

When I arrive, Liam smiles and shakes his head when he sees me. "Let's see it. You're with me. It's a special unit of sharpshooters. Join your squad." He nods over at a group lining the wall. Louis. Finnick. five others I don't know. My squad. I'm not only in, I get to work under Liam. With my friends. I force myself to take calm, soldierly steps to join them, instead of jumping up and down.

"Katniss is coming with us?" Finnick asks.

"Yes. She will be coming with us. She trained a lot even if she was still in the hospital."

We must be important, too, because we're in Command, and it has nothing to do with a certain Mockingjay. Plutarch stands over a wide, flat panel in the center of the table. He's explaining something about the nature of what we will encounter in the Capitol. I'm thinking this is a terrible presentation--because even on tiptoe I can't see what's on the panel--until he hits a button. A holographic image of a block of the Capitol projects into the air. 

"This, for example, is the area surrounding one of the Peacekeepers' barracks. Not unimportant, but not the most crucial of targets, and yet look." Plutarch enters some sort of code on a keyboard, and lights begin to flash. They're in an assortment of colors and blink at different speeds. "Each light is called a pod. It represents a different obstacle, the nature of which could be anything from a bomb to a band of mutts. Make no mistake, whatever it contains is designed to either trap or kill you. Some have been in place since the Dark Days, others developed over the years. To be honest, I created a fair number myself. This program, which one of our people absconded with when we left the Capitol, is our most recent information. They don't know we have it. But even so, it's likely that new pods have been activated in the last few months. This is what you will face."

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.  
Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered.

"Back in line, Soldiers Odair and  
Styles. I have a presentation to finish." Plutarch says with an impatient wave.

We retreat to our places, ignoring the questioning looks thrown our way. I adopt an attitude of extreme  
concentration as Plutarch continues, nodding my head here and there, shifting my position to get a better view.

Finnick and I gravitate toward each other in the hallway. "What will I tell Annie?" he says under his breath.

"Nothing," I answer. "That's what Gemma and my mom will be hearing from me." Bad enough that we know we're heading back into a fully equipped arena. No use dropping it on our loved ones.

"If she sees that holograph--" he begins.

"She won't. It's classified information. It must be," I say. "Anyway, it's not like an actual Games. Any number of people will survive. We're just overreacting because--well, you know why. You still want to go, don't you?"

"Of course. I want to destroy Snow as much as we all do," he says.

"It won't be like the others," I say firmly, trying to convince myself as well. Then the real beauty of the situation dawns on me. "This time Snow will be a player, too."

The remaining days go by in a whirl. After a brief workout each morning, my squad's on the shooting range  
full-time in training. I practice mostly with a gun, but they reserve an hour a day for specialty weapons, which means Louis, Katniss and I get to use our bow. The trident Beetee designed for Finnick has a lot of special features, but the most remarkable is that he can throw it, press a button on a metal cuff on his wrist, and return it to his hand without chasing it down.

Sometimes we shoot at Peacekeeper dummies to become familiar with the weaknesses in their protective gear.

It's reassuring to see just how high the overall level of accuracy is in our group. Along with Finnick, Katniss and Louis, the squad includes five soldiers from 13. Jackson, a middle-aged woman who's Liam's second in command, looks kind of sluggish but can hit things the rest of us can't even see without a scope. Farsighted, she says. There's a pair of sisters in their twenties named Leeg--we call them Leeg 1 and Leeg 2 for clarity--who are so similar in uniform, I can't tell them apart until I notice Leeg 1 has weird yellow flecks in her eyes. Two older guys, Mitchell and Homes, never say much but can shoot the dust off your boots at fifty yards.I see other squads that are also quite good, but I don't fully understand our status until the morning Plutarch joins us.

"Squad Four-Five-One, you have been selected for a special mission," he begins. "We have numerous sharpshooters, but rather a dearth of camera crews. Therefore, we've handpicked the eight of you to be what we call our 'Star Squad.' You will be the on-screen faces of the invasion."

" What you're saying is, we won't be in actual combat," snaps Louis.

"You will be in combat, but perhaps not always on the front line. If one can even isolate a front line in this type of war," says Plutarch.

"None of us wants that." Finnick's remark is followed by a general rumble of assent.

"We're going to fight." I say.

"You're going to be as useful to the war effort as possible," Plutarch says. "And it's been decided that you are of most value on television. Just look at the effect Katniss had running around in that Mockingjay suit. Turned the whole rebellion around. Do you notice how she's the only one not complaining? It's because she understands the power of that screen."

"But it's not all pretend, is it?" She asks. "That'd be a waste of talent."

"Don't worry," Plutarch tells her. "You'll have plenty of real targets to hit. But don't get blown up. I've got enough on my plate without having to replace you. Now get to the Capitol and put on a good show."

The morning we ship out, I say good-bye to my family. I haven't told them how much the Capitol's defenses mirror the weapons in the arena, but my going off to war is awful enough on its own. My mother holds me tightly for a long time. I feel tears on her cheek, something she suppressed when I was slated for the Games. "Don't worry. I'll be perfectly safe. I'm not even a real soldier. Just one of Plutarch's televised puppets," I reassure her.

"How do you feel?" Gemma asks.

"Better, knowing you're somewhere Snow can't reach you," I say.

"Next time we see each other, we'll be free of him," says Gemma firmly. Then she throws her arms around my  
neck. "Be careful."

I slip my necklace into the pocket of my uniform.

A hovercraft takes us to 12, where a makeshift transportation area has been set up outside the fire zone. No luxury trains this time, but a cargo car packed to the limit with soldiers in their dark gray uniforms, sleeping with their heads on their packs. After a couple of days' travel, we disembark inside one of the mountain tunnels leading to the Capitol, and make the rest of the six-hour trek on foot, taking care to step only on a glowing green paint line that marks safe passage to the air above.

We come out in the rebel encampment, a ten-block stretch outside the train station. It's already crawling with soldiers. Squad 451 is assigned a spot to pitch its tents.

This area has been secured for over a week. Rebels pushed out the Peacekeepers, losing hundreds of lives in the process. The Capitol forces fell back and have regrouped farther into the city. Between us lie the booby- trapped streets, empty and inviting. Each one will need to be swept of pods before we can advance.

Zayn asks about hoverplane bombings--we do feel very naked pitched out in the open--but Liam says it's not an issue. Most of the Capitol's air fleet was destroyed in 2 or during the invasion. If it has any craft left, it's holding on to them. Probably so Snow and his inner circle can make a last-minute escape to some presidential bunker somewhere if needed. Our own hoverplanes were grounded after the Capitol's antiaircraft missiles decimated the first few waves. This war will be battled out on the streets with, hopefully, only superficial damage to the infrastructure and a minimum of human casualties. The rebels want the Capitol, just as the Capitol wanted 13.

After three days, much of Squad 451 risks deserting out of boredom. Cressida and her team take shots of us firing. They tell us we're part of the disinformation team. If the rebels only shoot Plutarch's pods, it will take the Capitol about two minutes to realize we have the holograph. So there's a lot of time spent shattering things that don't matter, to throw them off the scent. Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that's been blown off the exteriors of the candy-colored buildings. I suspect they are intercutting this footage with the destruction of significant Capitol targets. Once in a while it seems a real sharpshooter's services are needed. All the hands go up, but Katniss, Louis, Finnick, and I are never chosen.

"It's your own fault for being so camera-ready," I tell Louis.

I don't think they quite know what to do with the four of us. Sometimes we use a gun, sometimes they ask us to shoot with our bow and arrows. It's as if they don't want to entirely lose the Mockingjay, but they want to downgrade Katniss' role to foot soldier.

Each of us has a paper map of the Capitol. The city forms an almost perfect square. Lines divide the map into smaller squares, with letters along the top and numbers down the side to form a grid. I consume this, noting every intersection and side street, but it's remedial stuff. The commanders here are working off Plutarch's holograph. Each has a handheld contraption called a Holo that produces images like I saw in Command. They can zoom into any area of the grid and see what pods await them. The Holo's an independent unit, a glorified map really, since it can neither send nor receive signals. But it's far superior to my paper version.

A Holo is activated by a specific commander's voice giving his or her name. Once it's working, it responds to the other voices in the squadron so if, say, Liam were killed or severely disabled, someone could take over. If anyone in the squad repeats "nightlock" three times in a row, the Holo will explode, blowing everything in a five- yard radius sky-high. This is for security reasons in the event of capture. It's understood that we would all do this without hesitation.

On the fourth morning, Soldier Leeg 2 hits a mislabeled pod. It doesn't unleash a swarm of muttation gnats, which the rebels are prepared for, but shoots out a sunburst of metal darts. One finds her brain. She's gone before the medics can reach her. Plutarch promises a speedy replacement.

The following evening, the newest member of our squad arrives. With no manacles. No guards. Strolling out of the train station with his gun swinging from the strap over his shoulder. There's shock, confusion, resistance, but 451 is stamped on the back of Peeta's hand in fresh ink.

Liam relieves him of his weapon and goes to make a call.

"It won't matter," Peeta tells the rest of us. "The president assigned me herself. She decided the propos needed some heating up."


	21. Real or not real

I've never really seen Liam angry before. Not when We've disobeyed his orders, not even when Louis broke his nose. But he's angry when he returns from his phone call with the president. The first thing he does is instruct Soldier Jackson, his second in command, to set up a two-person, round-the-clock guard on Peeta.

"What time is my watch?" Katniss asks Jackson.

She squints at her in doubt, or maybe she's just trying to get her face in focus. "I didn't put you in the rotation."

"Why not?" She asks.

"I'm not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it," she says.

She speaks up so the whole squad can hear her clearly. "I wouldn't be shooting Peeta. He's gone. Johanna's right. It'd be just like shooting another of the Capitol's mutts."

"Well, that sort of comment isn't recommending you either," says Jackson.

"Put her in the rotation," I hear Liam say.

Jackson shakes her head and makes a note. "Midnight to four. You're on with me."

The dinner whistle sounds, and Louis and I line up at the canteen. "You look good in that outfit." He tells me.

I chuckle and blush. He grabs my waist and pulls me closer to him.

"What? I'm saying the truth. You look great in everything. Even in this rebel outfit." Louis says.

"Wow, are you flirting with me?" I ask.

"When am I not flirting with you?" He says and gives me a quick kiss.

"Lou, people are watching us." I say.

Squad 451 and the television crew collect dinner from the canteen and gather in a tense circle to eat.

The autumn day turns from brisk to cold. Most of the squad hunker down in their sleeping bags. Some sleep under the open sky, close to the heater in the center of our camp, while others retreat to their tents. Leeg 1 has finally broken down over her sister's death, and her muffled sobs reach us through the canvas. I huddle in my tent with Louis beside me. 

In the morning, Louis, Finnick, Katniss and I go out to shoot some glass off the buildings for the camera crew. When we get back to camp, Peeta's sitting in a circle with the soldiers from 13, who are armed but talking openly with him.

Jackson has devised a game called "Real or Not Real" to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it's true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation.

"Most of the people from Twelve were killed in the fire."

"Real. Less than nine hundred of you made it to Thirteen alive." Liam answers.

"The fire was my fault." He asks.

"Not real. President Snow destroyed Twelve the way he did Thirteen, to send a message to the rebels."

This seems like a good idea. Jackson breaks us up into watches. She matches up Finnick, Katniss, Louis, and me each with a soldier from 13. This way Peeta will always have access to someone who knows him more personally. It's not a steady conversation. Peeta spends a long time considering even small pieces of information, like where people bought their soap back home. Louis fills him in on a lot of stuff about 12; Finnick and I are the expert on both of Peeta's Games, as we were mentor in the first and a tribute in the second. But since Peeta's greatest confusion centers around Katniss, their exchanges are loaded, even though they touch on only the most superficial of details. The color of her dress in 7, during the victory tour. Her preference for cheese buns. The name of their math teacher when they were little. Reconstructing his memory of her is excruciating. Perhaps it isn't even possible after what Snow did to him.

The next afternoon, we're notified that the whole squad is needed to stage a fairly complicated propo. Coin and Plutarch are unhappy with the quality of footage they're getting from the Star Squad. Very dull. Very uninspiring. The obvious response is that they never let us do anything but playact with our guns. However, this is not about defending ourselves, it's about coming up with a usable product.

So today, a special block has been set aside for filming. It even has a couple of active pods on it. One unleashes a spray of gunfire. The other nets the invader and traps them for either interrogation or execution, depending on the captors' preference. But it's still an unimportant residential block with nothing of strategic consequence.  
The television crew means to provide a sense of heightened jeopardy by releasing smoke bombs and adding gunfire sound effects.

We suit up in heavy protective gear, even the crew, as if we're heading into the heart of battle. Those of us with specialty weapons are allowed to take them along with our guns.

Liam gives Peeta back his gun, too, although he makes sure to tell him in a loud voice that it's only loaded with blanks.

Peeta just shrugs. "I'm not much of a shot anyway."

He seems preoccupied with watching Niall, to the point where it's getting a little worrisome, when he finally puzzles it out and begins to speak with agitation. "You're an Avox, aren't you? I can tell by the way you swallow. There were two Avoxes with me in prison. Darius and Lavinia, but the guards mostly called them the redheads. They'd been our servants in the Training Center, so they arrested them, too. I watched them being tortured to death. She was lucky. They used too much voltage and her heart stopped right off. It took days to finish him off. Beating, cutting off parts. They kept asking him questions, but he couldn't speak, he just made these horrible animal sounds. They didn't want information, you know? They wanted me to see it."

Peeta looks around at our stunned faces, as if waiting for a reply. When none is forthcoming, he asks, "Real or not real?" The lack of response upsets him more. "Real or not real?!" he demands.

"Real," says Liam. "At least, to the best of my knowledge...real."

Peeta sags. "I thought so. There was nothing...shiny about it." He wanders away from the group, muttering something about fingers and toes.

I move to Louis, press my forehead into the body armor where his chest should be, feel his arm tighten around me. 

With Peeta's grisly account fresh in our minds, we crunch through the streets of broken glass until we reach our target, the block we are to take. It is a real, if small, goal to accomplish.

We gather around Liam to examine the Holo projection of the street. The gunfire pod is positioned about a third of the way down, just above an apartment awning. We should be able to trigger it with bullets. The net pod is at the far end, almost the next corner. This will require someone to set off the body sensor mechanism.

Everyone volunteers except Peeta, who doesn't seem to know quite what's going on. I don't get picked.

The squad positions itself under Liam's direction, and then we have to wait for Cressida to get the cameramen in place as well. They're both to our left, with Castor toward the front and Niall bringing up the rear so they'll be sure not to record each other.

Zayn sets off a couple of smoke charges for atmosphere. Since this is both a mission and a shoot, I'm about to ask who's in charge, my commander or my director, when Cressida calls, "Action!"

We slowly proceed down the hazy street, just like one of our exercises in the Block. Everyone has at least one section of windows to blow out, but Louis's assigned the real target.

When he hits the pod, we take cover-- ducking into doorways or flattening onto the pretty, light orange and pink paving stones--as a hail of bullets sweeps back and forth over our heads. After a while, Liam orders us forward.

Cressida stops us before we can rise, since she needs some close-up shots. We take turns reenacting our responses. Falling to the ground, grimacing, diving into alcoves. We know it's supposed to be serious business, but the whole thing feels a little ridiculous.

We're all laughing so hard at Mitchell's attempt to project his idea of desperation, which involves teeth grinding and nostrils flaring, that Liam has to reprimand us.

"Pull it together, Four-Five-One," he says firmly. But you can see him suppressing a smile as he's double- checking the next pod. Positioning the Holo to find the best light in the smoky air. Still facing us as his left foot steps back onto the orange paving stone. Triggering the bomb that blows off his legs.


	22. Like a wave

It's as if in an instant, a painted window shatters, revealing the ugly world behind it. Laughter changes to screams, blood stains pastel stones, real smoke darkens the special effect stuff made for television.

A second explosion seems to split the air and leaves my ears ringing. But I can't make out where it came from.

Katniss and I reach Liam first, try to make sense of the torn flesh, missing limbs, to find something to stem the red flow from his body. Homes pushes me aside, wrenching open a first-aid kit. Liam clutches Katniss' wrist. His face, gray with dying and ash, seems to be receding. But his next words are an order. "The Holo."

She returns it to her commander.

Homes has the stump of Liam's left thigh cupped by some sort of compression bandage, but it's already soaked through. He's trying to tourniquet the other above the existing knee.

The rest of the squad has gathered in a protective formation around the crew and us. Finnick's attempting to revive Zayn, who was thrown into a wall by the explosion. Jackson's barking into a field communicator, trying unsuccessfully to alert the camp to send medics, but I know it's too late.

I learned that once a pool of blood has reached a certain size, there's no going back.

I kneel beside Liam, prepared to be someone to hold on to as he's released from life. But Liam has both hands working the Holo. He's typing in a command, pressing his thumb to the screen for print recognition, speaking a string of letters and numbers in response to a prompt. A green shaft of light bursts out of the Holo and illuminates his face. He says, "Unfit for command. Transfer of prime security clearance to Squad Four-Five-One Soldier Katniss Everdeen." It's all he can do to turn the Holo toward her face. "Say your name."

"Katniss Everdeen," She says into the green shaft. Suddenly, it has her trapped in its light. "What did you do?"

"Prepare to retreat!" Jackson hollers.

Finnick's yelling something back, gesturing to the end of the block where we entered. Black, oily matter spouts like a geyser from the street, billowing between the buildings, creating an impenetrable wall of darkness. It seems to be neither liquid nor gas, mechanical nor natural. Surely it's lethal. There's no heading back the way we came.

Deafening gunfire as Louis and Leeg 1 begin to blast a path across the stones toward the far end of the block. I don't know what they're doing until another bomb, ten yards away, detonates, opening a hole in the street. Then I realize this is a rudimentary attempt at minesweeping. Homes and I latch on to Liam and begin to drag him after Louis.

Agony takes over and he's crying out in pain and I want to stop, to find a better way, but the blackness is rising above the buildings, swelling, rolling at us like a wave.

Katniss is yanked backward. Peeta looks down at her, gone, mad, flashing back into the land of the hijacked, his gun raised over her, descending to crush her skull. She rolls, as Mitchell tackles Peeta and pins him to the ground. But Peeta, always so powerful and now fueled by tracker jacker insanity, gets his feet under Mitchell's belly and launches him farther down the block.

There's a loud snap of a trap as the pod triggers. Four cables, attached to tracks on the buildings, break through the stones, dragging up the net that encases Mitchell. It makes no sense--how instantly bloodied he is-- until we see the barbs sticking from the wire that encases him. As I call to him not to move, I gag on the smell of the blackness, thick, tarlike. The wave has crested and begun to fall.

Louis and Leeg 1 shoot through the front door lock of the corner building, then begin to fire at the cables holding Mitchell's net. Others are restraining Peeta now. I lunge back to Liam, and Homes and I drag him inside the apartment, through someone's pink and white velvet living room, down a hallway hung with family photos, onto the marble floor of a kitchen, where we collapse. Castor, Katniss and Niall carry in a writhing Peeta. Somehow Jackson gets cuffs on him, but it only makes him wilder and they're forced to lock him in a closet.

In the living room, the front door slams, people shout. Then footsteps pound down the hall as the black  
wave roars past the building.

From the kitchen, we can hear the windows groan, shatter. The noxious tar smell permeates the air. Finnick carries in Zayn. Leeg 1 and Cressida stumble into the room after them, coughing.

"Louis!" I shriek.

He's there, slamming the kitchen door shut behind him, choking out one word. "Fumes!"

Castor and Niall grab towels, aprons to stuff in the cracks as Louis retches into a bright yellow sink.

"Mitchell?" asks Homes. Leeg 1 just shakes her head.

Liam forces the Holo into Katniss hands. His lips are moving but I can't hear anything.

"What? Liam? Liam?" I scream. His eyes are still open, but dead.

Peeta's feet slamming into the closet door break up the ragged breathing of the others. But even as we listen, his energy seems to ebb. The kicks diminish to an irregular drumming. Then nothing. I wonder if he, too, is dead.

"He's gone?" Finnick asks, looking down at Liam. I nod.

"We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. You can bet they've got us on surveillance tapes." I say.

"Count on it," says Castor. "All the streets are covered by surveillance cameras. I bet they set off the black wave manually when they saw us taping the propo."

"Our radio communicators went dead almost immediately. Probably an electromagnetic pulse device. But I'll get us back to camp. Give me the Holo." Jackson reaches for the unit, but Katniss clutchs it to her chest.

"No. Liam gave it to me," She says.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jackson snaps.

"It's true," I say. "He transferred the prime security clearance to her while he was dying. I saw it."

"Why would he do that?" demands Jackson.

"Because I'm on a special mission for President Coin. I think Liam was the only one who knew about it."

"To do what?"

"To assassinate President Snow before the loss of life from this war makes our population unsustainable."

"I don't believe you," says Jackson. "As your current commander, I order you to transfer the prime security clearance over to me."

"No," She says. "That would be in direct violation of President Coin's orders."

Cressida speaks up. "It's true. That's why we're here. Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it will end the war."

This gives even Jackson pause. Then she gestures with her gun toward the closet. "And why is he here?"

"Because the two post-Games interviews with Caesar Flickerman were shot in President Snow's personal quarters. Plutarch thinks Peeta may be of some use as a guide in a location we have little knowledge of."

"We have to go!" says Louis. "I'm following Katniss. If you don't want to, head back to camp. But let's move!"

Homes unlocks the closet and heaves an unconscious Peeta over his shoulder. "Ready."

"Liam?" says Leeg 1.

"We can't take him. He'd understand," says Finnick. He frees Liam's gun from his shoulder and slings the strap over his own. "Lead on, Soldier Everdeen."

"I don't know how to use this. Liam said you would help me," She tells Jackson. "He said I could count on you."

Jackson scowls, snatches the Holo from her, and taps in a command. An intersection comes up. "If we go out the kitchen door, there's a small courtyard, then the back side of another corner apartment unit. We're looking at an overview of the four streets that meet at the intersection."

"Put on your masks. We're going out the way we came in." She says  
"If the wave was that powerful, then it may have triggered and absorbed other pods in our path."

People stop to consider this. Niall makes a few quick signs to his brother. "It may have disabled the cameras as well," Castor translates. "Coated the lenses."

Louis props one of his boots on the counter and examines the splatter of black on the toe. Scrapes it with a kitchen knife from a block on the counter. "It's not corrosive. I think it was meant to either suffocate or poison us."

"Probably our best shot," says Leeg 1.

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face. Cressida and Leeg 1 prop up a woozy Zayn between them. A half-inch layer of the black goo has spread from the living room about three- quarters of the way down the hall. When Louis gingerly tests it with the toe of his boot, We find it has the consistency of a gel. He lift his foot and after stretching slightly, it springs back into place. He takes three steps into the gel and looks back. No footprints. It's the first good thing that's happened today.

The gel becomes slightly thicker as we cross the living room. Louis eases open the front door, expecting gallons of the stuff to pour in, but it holds its form.

The pink and orange block seems to have been dipped in glossy black paint and set out to dry. Paving stones, buildings, even the rooftops are coated in the gel. A large teardrop hangs above the street. Two shapes project from it. A gun barrel and a human hand. Mitchell. I wait on the sidewalk, staring up at him until Louis joins me.

"If anyone needs to go back, for whatever reason, now is the time," Katniss says. "No questions asked, no hard feelings."

No one seems inclined to retreat. So we start moving into the Capitol, knowing we don't have much time.

The gel's deeper here, four to six inches, and makes a sucking sound each time you pick up your foot, but it still covers our tracks.

The wave must have been enormous, with tremendous power behind it, as it's affected several blocks that lie ahead. One block is sprinkled with the golden bodies of tracker jackers. They must have been set free only to succumb to the fumes. A little farther along, an entire apartment building has collapsed and lies in a mound under the gel. The wave seems to have dismantled the pods far better than any squad of rebels could.

On the fifth block, I can tell that we've reached the point where the wave began to peter out. The gel's only an inch deep, and I can see baby blue rooftops peeking out across the next intersection.

The afternoon light has faded, and we badly need to get under cover and form a plan. We choose an apartment two-thirds of the way down the block.

Homes jimmies the lock, and Katniss order us inside.

Flashlights built into our guns illuminate a large living room with mirrored walls that throw our faces back at us at every turn. Louis checks the windows, which show no damage, and removes his mask. "It's all right. You can smell it, but it's not too strong."

The apartment seems to be laid out exactly like the first one we took refuge in. The gel blacks out any  
natural daylight in the front, but some light still slips through the shutters in the kitchen. Along the hallway are two bedrooms with baths. A spiral staircase in the living room leads up to an open space that composes much of the second floor. There are no windows upstairs, but the lights have been left on, probably by someone hastily evacuating. A huge television screen, blank but glowing softly, occupies one wall. Plush chairs and sofas are strewn around the room. This is where we congregate, slump into upholstery, try to catch our breath.


	23. Underground

Jackson has her gun trained on Peeta even though he's still cuffed and unconscious, draped across a deep-blue sofa where Homes deposited him. A distant chain of explosions sends a tremor through the room.

"It wasn't close," Jackson assures us.   
"A good four or five blocks away."

"Where we left Liam," I say.

Although no one has made a move toward it, the television flares to life, emitting a high-pitched beeping  
sound, bringing half our party to its feet.

"It's all right!" calls Cressida. "It's just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically  
activated for it."

There we are on-screen, just after the bomb took out Liam. A voice-over tells the audience what they are  
viewing as we try to regroup, react to the black gel shooting from the street, lose control of the situation. We watch the chaos that follows until the wave blots out the cameras. The last thing we see is Louis, alone on the street, trying to shoot through the cables that hold Mitchell aloft.  
The reporter identifies Louis, Finnick, Liam, Peeta, Katniss, Cressida, and me by name.

"There's no aerial footage. Liam must have been right about their hovercraft capacity," says Castor.

I didn't notice this, but I guess it's the kind of thing a cameraman picks up on.

Coverage continues from the courtyard behind the apartment where we took shelter. Peacekeepers line the roof across from our former hideout. Shells are launched into the row of apartments, setting off the chain of explosions we heard, and the building collapses into rubble and dust.

Now we cut to a live feed. A reporter stands on the roof with the Peacekeepers. Behind her, the apartment block burns. Firefighters try to control the blaze with water hoses. We are pronounced dead.

"Finally, a bit of luck," says Homes.

I guess he's right. Certainly it's better than having the Capitol in pursuit of us. But I just keep imagining how this will be playing back in 13. Where my mother and Gemma, Annie, Haymitch, and a whole lot of people from 13 think that they have just seen us die.

"My father. He just lost my sister and now..." says Leeg 1.

We watch as they play the footage over and over. Break away to do a montage of the Mockingjay's rise to rebel power--I think they've had this part prepared for a while, because it seems pretty polished--and then go live so a couple of reporters can discuss our well-deserved violent end. Later, they promise, Snow will make an official statement. The screen fades back to a glow.

The rebels made no attempt to break in during the broadcast, which leads me to believe they think it's true. If that's so, we really are on our own.

"So, now that we're dead, what's our next move?" asks Louis.

"Isn't it obvious?" No one even knew Peeta had regained consciousness. I don't know how long he's been watching, but by the look of misery on his face, long enough to see what happened on the street. How he went mad, tried to bash my head in, and hurled Mitchell into the pod. He painfully pushes himself up to a sitting position and directs his words to Louis.

"Our next move...is to kill me."

That makes two requests for Peeta's death in less than an hour.

"Don't be ridiculous," says Jackson.

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," I say.  
trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen  
myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

"It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

"You can't take me with you. It's only a matter of time before I kill someone else." Peeta looks around at our conflicted faces. "Maybe you think it's kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that's the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. Do you think you'd be doing me a favor by sending me back to Snow?"

"I'll kill you before that happens," says Louis. "I promise."

Peeta hesitates, as if considering the reliability of this offer, and then shakes his head. "It's no good. What if you're not there to do it? I want one of those poison pills like the rest of you have."

Nightlock. There's one pill in the breast pocket of my uniform. Interesting that they didn't issue one to Peeta. It's unclear if Peeta means he'd finish himself off now, to spare us having to murder him, or only if the Capitol took him prisoner again.

"It's not about you," Katniss says. "We're on a mission. And you're necessary to it." She looks to the rest of the group. "Think we might find some food here?"

Besides the medical kit and cameras, we have nothing but our uniforms and our weapons. Half of us stay to guard Peeta or keep an eye out for Snow's broadcast, while the others hunt for something to eat. Zayn proves most valuable because he lived in a near replica of this apartment and knows where people would be most likely to stash food. Like how there's a storage space concealed by a mirrored panel in the bedroom, or how easy it is to pop out the ventilation screen in the hallway. So even though the kitchen cupboards are bare, we find over thirty canned goods and several boxes of cookies.

The hoarding disgusts the soldiers raised in 13. "Isn't this illegal?" says Leeg 1.

"On the contrary, in the Capitol you'd be considered stupid not to do it," says Zayn. "Even before the Quarter Quell, people were starting to stock up on scarce supplies."

"While others went without," says Leeg 1.

"Right," says Zayn. "That's how it works here."

"Fortunately, or we wouldn't have dinner," says Louis. "Everybody grab a can."

Some of our company seem reluctant to do this, but it's as good a method as any. I'm really not in the mood to divvy up everything into eleven equal parts, factoring in age, body weight, and physical output. I poke around in the pile and I settle on some cod chowder.

We're passing around a box of fancy cream-filled cookies when the beeping starts again. The seal of Panem lights up on the screen and remains there while the anthem plays. And then they begin to show images of the dead, just as they did with the tributes in the arena. They start with the four faces of our TV crew, followed by Liam, Louis, Katniss, Finnick, Peeta, and me. Except for Liam, they don't bother with the soldiers from 13, either because they have no idea who they are or because they know they won't mean anything to the audience.

Then the man himself appears, seated at his desk, a flag draped behind him, the fresh white rose gleaming in his lapel. I think he might have recently had more work done, because his lips are puffier than usual. And his prep team really needs to use a lighter hand with his blush.

Snow congratulates the Peacekeepers on a masterful job, honors them for ridding the country of the menace called the Mockingjay.

With Katniss death, he predicts a turning of the tide in the war, since the demoralized rebels have no one left to follow.

Somewhere in District 13, Beetee hits a switch, because now it's not President Snow but President Coin who's looking at us. She introduces herself to Panem, identifies herself as the head of the rebellion, and then gives Katniss eulogy. Praise for the girl who survived the Seam and the Hunger Games, then turned a country of slaves into an army of freedom fighters. "Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If ever you waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors."

"I had no idea how much I meant to her," She says, which brings a laugh from Finnick and questioning looks from us.

Up comes a heavily doctored photo of her looking beautiful and fierce with a bunch of flames flickering behind her. No words. No slogan. her face is all they need now.

Beetee gives the reins back to a very controlled Snow. I have the feeling the president thought the emergency channel was impenetrable, and someone will end up dead tonight because it was breached. "Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen's body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself." Seal, anthem, and out.

"Except that you won't find her," says Finnick to the empty screen, voicing what we're all probably thinking. The grace period will be brief. Once they dig through those ashes and come up missing twelve bodies, they'll know we escaped.

"We can get a head start on them at least," I say. Suddenly, I'm so tired. All I want is to lie down on a nearby green plush sofa and go to sleep. To cocoon myself in a comforter with Louis and kiss him.

Instead, Katniss pulls out the Holo and insists that Jackson talk her through the most basic commands.  
"Any ideas?" She finally says.

"Why don't we start by ruling out possibilities," says Finnick. "The street is not a possibility."

"The rooftops are just as bad as the street," says Leeg 1.

"We still might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came," says Homes. "But that would mean a failed mission."

"It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortune to be with me." Katniss admits.

"Well, that's a moot point. We're with you now," says Jackson. "So, we can't stay put. We can't move up.  
We can't move laterally. I think that just leaves one option."

"Underground," says Louis.

"Okay, then. Let's make it look like we've never been here," She says.

We erase all signs of our stay. Send the empty cans down a trash chute, pocket the full ones for later, flip sofa cushions smeared with blood, wipe traces of gel from the tiles.

There's no fixing the latch on the front door, but we lock a second bolt, which will at least keep the door from swinging open on contact.

Finally, there's only Peeta to contend with. He plants himself on the blue sofa, refusing to budge. "I'm not going. I'll either disclose your position or hurt someone else."

"Snow's people will find you," I say to him.

"Then leave me a pill. I'll only take it if I have to," says Peeta.

"That's not an option. Come along," says Jackson.

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?" asks Peeta.

"We'll knock you out and drag you with us," says Homes. "Which will both slow us down and endanger us."

"Stop being noble! I don't care if I die!" He turns to her, pleading now.   
"Katniss, please. Don't you see, I  
want to be out of this?"

"We're wasting time. Are you coming voluntarily or do we knock you out?"

Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us.

"Should we free his hands?" I ask.

"No!" Peeta growls at me, drawing his cuffs in close to his body.

"No," Katniss echoes. "But I want the key."

Jackson passes it over without a word. She slips it into her pants pocket.

When Homes pries open the small metal door to the maintenance shaft, we encounter another problem.  
There's no way the insect shells will be able to fit through the narrow passage. Castor and Niall remove them and detach emergency backup cameras. Each is the size of a shoe box and probably works about as well. Zayn can't think of anywhere better to hide the bulky shells, so we end up dumping them in the closet.

Leaving such an easy trail to follow frustrates us, but what else can we do?

We sidestep our way past the first apartment, and break into the second. In this apartment, one of the bedrooms has a door marked utility instead of a bathroom. Behind the door is the room with the entrance to the tube.

Zayn frowns at the wide circular cover, for a moment returning to his own fussy world. "It's why no one ever wants the center unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent's considerably cheaper." Then he notices Finnick's amused expression and adds, "Never mind."

The tube cover's simple to unlatch. A wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps allows for a swift, easy descent into the bowels of the city. We gather at the foot of the ladder, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dim strips of lights, breathing in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage.

Niall, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches on to Castor's wrist. Like he might fall over if there isn't someone to steady him.

"My brother worked down here after he became an Avox," says Castor.   
Of course. Who else would they get to maintain these dank, evil-smelling passages mined with pods? "Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn't see the sun once."

Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to say. Instead we all stand there for a long time trying to formulate a response.

Finally, Peeta turns to Niall. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset." Castor laughs and Niall manages a smile.

Peeta called it right. Niall turns out to be worth ten Holos. There is a simple network of wide tunnels that directly corresponds to the main street plan above, underlying the major avenues and cross streets. It's called the Transfer, since small trucks use it to deliver goods around the city. During the day, its many pods are deactivated, but at night it's a minefield. However, hundreds of additional passages, utility shafts, train tracks, and drainage tubes form a multilevel maze. Niall knows details that would lead to disaster for a newcomer, like which offshoots might require gas masks or have live wires or rats the size of beavers.

He alerts us to the gush of water that sweeps through the sewers periodically, anticipates the time the Avoxes will be changing shifts, leads us into damp, obscure pipes to dodge the nearly silent passage of cargo trains.

Most important, he has knowledge of the cameras. There aren't many down in this gloomy, misty place, except in the Transfer. But we keep well out of their way.

Under Niall's guidance we make good time--remarkable time, if you compare it to our aboveground travel. After about six hours, fatigue takes over. It's three in the morning, so I figure we still have a few hours before our bodies are discovered missing, they search through the rubble of the whole block of apartments in case we tried to escape through the shafts, and the hunt begins.

When I suggest we rest, no one objects. Niall finds a small, warm room humming with machines loaded with levers and dials. He holds up his fingers to indicate we must be gone in four hours.

Jackson works out a guard schedule, and, since I'm not on the first shift, I wedge myself in the tight space between Louis and Leeg 1 and go right to sleep.


	24. Roses and Mutts

Shortly before seven, Katniss and Niall wake us up. There are the usual yawns and sighs that accompany waking. She hush us and that's when we hear it.

The grace period has ended. Perhaps Snow had them digging through the night. As soon as the fire died down, anyway. They found Liam's remains, briefly felt reassured, and then, as the hours went by without further trophies, began to suspect. At some point, they realized that they had been tricked. And President Snow can't tolerate being made to look like a fool.

It doesn't matter whether they tracked us to the second apartment or assumed we went directly underground. They know we are down here now and they've unleashed something, a pack of mutts probably, bent on finding us.

"Katniss." We jump at the proximity of the sound. Look frantically for its source, bow loaded, seeking a target to hit.

"Katniss." Peeta's lips are barely moving, but there's no doubt, the name came out of him.

Just when I thought he seemed a little better, when we thought he might be inching his way back to her, here is proof of how deep Snow's poison went.

"Katniss." Peeta's programmed to respond to the hissing chorus, to join in the hunt. He's beginning to stir. There's no choice.

Louis and I position our arrow to penetrate his brain while Katniss frozes. He'll barely feel a thing.

Suddenly, he's sitting up, eyes wide in alarm, short of breath. "Katniss!" He whips his head toward her but doesn't seem to notice our bow, the waiting arrow. "Katniss! Get out of here!"

"Why? What's making that sound?" She asks.

"I don't know. Only that it has to kill you," says Peeta. "Run! Get out! Go!"

"Whatever it is, it's after me. It might be a good time to split up." Katniss says.

"But we're your guard," says Jackson.

"And your crew," adds Cressida.

"I'm not leaving you," I say.

She looks at the crew, armed with nothing but cameras and clipboards. And there's Finnick with two guns and a trident.

I suggest that he give one of his guns to Castor. Katniss ejects the blank cartridge from Peeta's, load it with a real one, and arm Niall.

Since Louis, Katniss and I have our bows, we hand our guns over to Zayn and Cressida. There's no time to show them anything but how to point and pull the trigger, but in close quarters, that might be enough.

It's better than being defenseless. Now the only one without a weapon is Peeta, but anyone whispering her name with a bunch of mutts doesn't need one anyway.

We leave the room free of everything but our scent. There's no way to erase that at the moment. I'm guessing that's how the hissing things are tracking us, because we haven't left much of a physical trail.

The mutts' noses will be abnormally keen, but possibly the time we spent slogging through water in drainpipes will help throw them.

Outside the hum of the room, the hissing becomes more distinct. But it's also possible to get a better sense of the mutts' location. They're behind us, still a fair distance.

Snow probably had them released underground near the place where he found Liam's body. Theoretically, we should have a good lead on them, although they're certain to be much faster than we are.

I wonder what form these mutts will take. Whatever Snow thinks will scare us the most.

Niall and Katniss have worked out a plan for the next leg of our journey, and since it heads away from the hissing, I see no reason to alter it. If we move swiftly, maybe we can reach Snow's mansion before the mutts reach us. But there's a sloppiness that comes with speed: the poorly placed boot that results in a splash, the accidental clang of a gun against a pipe,.

We've covered about three more blocks via an overflow pipe and a section of neglected train track when the screams begin. Thick, guttural. Bouncing off the tunnel walls.

"Avoxes," says Peeta immediately. "That's what Darius sounded like when they tortured him."

"The mutts must have found them," says Cressida.

"So they're not just after Katniss," I say.

"They'll probably kill anyone. It's just that they won't stop until they get to her," says Louis.

"let me go on alone. Lead them off. I'll transfer the Holo to Harry. The rest of you can finish the mission." She says.

"No one's going to agree to that!" I say in exasperation.

"We're wasting time!" says Finnick.

"Listen," Peeta whispers.

The screams have stopped, and in their absence her name has rebounded, startling in its proximity. It's below as well as behind us now. "Katniss."

I nudge Louis on the shoulder and we start to run. When we come to the steps leading down, Niall is scanning for a possible alternative on the Holo when Katniss starts gagging.

"Masks on!" orders Jackson.

I swerve away from the smell and stumble right out onto the Transfer. Smooth, pastel-colored tiled streets, just like the ones above, but bordered by white brick walls instead of homes. A roadway where delivery vehicles can drive with ease, without the congestion of the Capitol. Empty now, of everything but us.

Louis and I swing up our bow and blow up the first pod with an explosive arrow, which kills the nest of flesh-eating rats inside. Then we sprint for the next intersection. Katniss shouts a warning to the others to stay with her.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Harry!"

I whip back around, arrow poised for flight, but what can be done? Two of Louis's arrows already lie useless beside the wide shaft of golden light that radiates from ceiling to floor. Inside, Zayn is as still as a statue, poised up on the ball of one foot, head tilted back, held captive by the beam. I can't tell if he's yelling, although his mouth is stretched wide.

We watch, utterly helpless, as the flesh melts off his body like candle wax.

"Can't help him!" Peeta starts shoving people forward. Can't!"

Amazingly, he's the only one still functional enough to get us moving. I don't know why he's in control, when he should be flipping out and bashing Katniss brains in, but that could happen any second.

At the pressure of Louis' hand against my shoulder, I turn away from the grisly thing that was Zayn; I make my feet go forward, fast, so fast that I can barely skid to a stop before the next intersection.

A spray of gunfire brings down a shower of plaster. I turn and see the squad of Peacekeepers pounding down the Transfer toward us.

There's nothing to do but fire back. They outnumber us two to one, but we've still got seven original members of the Star Squad, who aren't trying to run and shoot at the same time.

Three-quarters of them are down and dead when more begin to pour in from the side of the tunnel.  
Those aren't Peacekeepers.

They are white, four-limbed, about the size of a full-grown human, but that's where the comparisons stop. Naked, with long reptilian tails, arched backs, and heads that jut forward.

They swarm over the Peacekeepers, living and dead, clamp on to their necks with their mouths and rip off the helmeted heads.

Apparently, having a Capitol pedigree is as useless here as it was in 13. It seems to take only seconds before the Peacekeepers are decapitated.

The mutts fall to their bellies and skitter toward us on all fours.

"This way!" Katniss shouts, hugging the wall and making a sharp right turn. When everyone's joined her, she fires into the intersection, and the a pod activates.

Huge mechanical teeth burst through the street and chew the tile to dust. That should make it impossible for the mutts to follow us, but I don't know.

The hissing burns my ears.

We follow Niall for about ten yards along the Transfer and go  
through a doorway. I'm aware of tile changing to concrete, of crawling through a tight, stinking pipe onto a ledge about a foot wide.

We're in the main sewer. A yard below, a poisonous brew of human waste, garbage, and chemical runoff bubbles by us. Parts of the surface are on fire, others emit evil-looking clouds of vapor. One look tells you that if you fall in, you're never coming out.

Moving as quickly as we dare on the slippery ledge, we make our way to a narrow bridge and cross it. In an alcove at the far side, Niall smacks a ladder with his hand and points up the shaft. This is it. Our way out.

A quick glance at our party tells me something's off. "Wait! Where are Jackson and Leeg One?"

"They stayed to hold the mutts back," says Louis.

"What?" I'm lunging back for the bridge, willing to leave no one to those monsters, when he yanks me back. "Don't waste their lives, Harry. It's too late for them. Look!" Louis nods to the pipe, where the mutts are slithering onto the ledge.

"Stand back!" Louis shouts. With his explosive-tipped arrows, he rips the far side of the bridge from its  
foundation. The rest sinks into the bubbles, just as the mutts reach it.

For the first time, I get a good look at them. A mix of human and lizard and who knows what else. White,  
tight reptilian skin smeared with gore, clawed hands and feet, their faces a mess of conflicting features. Hissing, shrieking Katniss name now, as their bodies contort in rage. Lashing out with tails and claws, taking huge chunks of one another or their own bodies with wide, lathered mouths, driven mad by their need to destroy us.

Our scent must be as evocative to them as theirs is to us. More so, because despite its toxicity, the mutts begin to throw themselves into the foul sewer.

Along our bank, everyone opens fire. I choose my arrows without discretion, sending arrowheads, fire, explosives into the mutts' bodies. They're mortal, but only just. No natural thing could keep coming with two dozen bullets in it. Yes, we can eventually kill them, only there are so many, an endless supply pouring from the pipe, not even hesitating to take to the sewage.

But it's not their numbers that make my hands shake so. No mutt is good. All are meant to damage you. Some take your life. However, the true atrocities, the most frightening, incorporate a perverse psychological twist designed to terrify the victim. The sound of the jabberjays replicating Gemma's tortured screams.

The others are shouting at me, but I can't seem to respond. Strong arms lift me as I blast the head off a mutt whose claws have just grazed my ankle. I'm slammed into the ladder. Hands shoved against the rungs. Ordered to climb. My wooden, puppet limbs obey. Movement slowly brings me back to my senses. I detect one person above me. Katniss.

Niall, Peeta and Cressida are below. We reach a platform. Switch to a second ladder. Rungs slick with sweat and mildew. At the next platform, my head has cleared and the reality of what's happened hits me. I begin frantically pulling people up off the ladder. Niall. Peeta. Cressida. That's it.

I'm scrambling back down the ladder when one of my boots kicks someone.

"Climb!" Louis barks at me. I'm back up, hauling him in, peering into the gloom for more. "No." Louis turns my face to him and shakes his head. Uniform shredded. Gaping wound in the side of his neck.

There's a human cry from below. "Someone's still alive," I plead.

"No, Harry. They're not coming," says Louis. "Only the mutts are."

Unable to accept it, I shine the light from Cressida's gun down the shaft. Far below, I can just make out Finnick, struggling to hang on as three mutts tear at him. One yanks back his head to take the death bite.

Katniss joins me and slides the Holo from her belt . She chokes out "nightlock, nightlock, nightlock." Releases it.

We hunch against the wall with the others as the explosion rocks the platform and bits of mutt and human flesh shoot out of the pipe and shower us.

There's a clank as Niall slams a cover over the pipe and locks it in place. Niall, Louis, Cressida, Katniss, Peeta, and me. We're all that's left. Later, the human feelings will come.

Now I'm conscious only of an animal need to keep the remnants of our band alive. "We can't stop here."

Someone comes up with a bandage. I tie it around Louis's neck. Get him to his feet. Only one figure stays huddled against the wall.

"Peeta," Katniss says.

There's no response. Has he blacked out?

She crouchs in front of him, pulling his cuffed hands from his face. "Peeta?"

"Leave me," he whispers. "I can't hang on."

"Yes. You can!" She tells him.

Peeta shakes his head. "I'm losing it. I'll go mad. Like them."

Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping our throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, we will really have to kill him. And Snow will win.

She leans in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but she keeps her lips pressed to his until she have to come up for air. her hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let him take you from me."

Peeta's panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. "No. I don't want to..."

She clenchs his hands. "Stay with me."

"Always," he murmurs.

I cough and address Niall. "How far to the street?"

He indicates it's just above us. We climb the last ladder and push open the lid to someone's utility room. I'm rising to my feet when a woman throws open the door. She wears a bright turquoise silk robe embroidered with exotic birds. Her magenta hair's fluffed up like a cloud and decorated with gilded butterflies. Grease from the half-eaten sausage she's holding smears her lipstick. The expression on her face says she recognizes us. She opens her mouth to call for help.

Without hesitation, I shoot her through the heart.


	25. Needle and sterile thread

Who the woman was calling to remains a mystery, because after searching the apartment, we find she was alone. Perhaps her cry was meant for a nearby neighbor, or was simply an expression of fear. At any rate, there's no one else to hear her.

This apartment would be a classy place to hole up in for a while, but that's a luxury we can't afford. "How long do you think we have before they figure out some of us could've survived?" I ask.

"I think they could be here anytime," Louis answers. "They knew we were heading for the streets. Probably the explosion will throw them for a few minutes, then they'll start looking for our exit point."

I go to a window that overlooks the street, and when I peek through the blinds, I'm not faced with Peacekeepers but with a bundled crowd of people going about their business. During our underground journey, we have left the evacuated zones far behind and surfaced in a busy section of the Capitol. This crowd offers our only chance of escape.

We don't have a Holo, but we have Cressida. She joins me at the window, confirms she knows our location, and gives us the good news that we aren't many blocks from the president's mansion.

One glance at my companions tells me this is no time for a stealth attack on Snow. Louis's still losing blood from the neck wound, which we haven't even cleaned. Peeta's sitting on a velvet sofa with his teeth clamped down on a pillow, either fighting off madness or containing a scream, Katniss beside him, crying over Finnick. Niall weeps against the mantel of an ornate fireplace. Cressida stands determinedly at my side, but she's so pale her lips are bloodless.

"Let's check her closets," Cressida says.

In one bedroom we find hundreds of the woman's outfits, coats, pairs of shoes, a rainbow of wigs, enough makeup to paint a house. In a bedroom across the hall, there's a similar selection for men. Perhaps they belong to her husband. Perhaps to a lover who had the good luck to be out this morning.

I call the others to dress. At the sight of Peeta's bloody wrists, Katniss digs in her pocket for the handcuff key, but he jerks away from her.

"No," he says. "Don't. They help hold me together."

"You might need your hands," says Louis.

"When I feel myself slipping, I dig my wrists into them, and the pain helps me focus," says Peeta. We let them  
be.

Fortunately, it's cold out, so we can conceal most of our uniforms and weapons under flowing coats and  
cloaks. We hang our boots around our necks by their laces and hide them, pull on silly shoes to replace them. The real challenge, of course, is our faces. Cressida and Niall run the risk of being recognized by acquaintances, Louis could be familiar from the propos and news, and Peeta , Katniss and I are known by every citizen of Panem.

We hastily help one another apply thick layers of makeup, pull on wigs and sunglasses.

I can feel the clock ticking away, but stop for just a few moments to stuff pockets with food and first-aid supplies. "Stay together," Katniss says at the front door. Then we march right into the street. Snow flurries have begun to fall. Agitated people swirl around us, speaking of rebels and hunger and Katnkss in their affected Capitol accents.

We cross the street, pass a few more apartments. Just as we turn the corner, three dozen Peacekeepers sweep past us. We hop out of their way, as the real citizens do, wait until the crowd returns to its normal flow, and keep moving.

"Cressida," Louis whispers. "Can you think of anywhere?"

"I'm trying," she says.

We cover another block, and the sirens begin. Through an apartment window, I see an emergency report and pictures of our faces flashing.

They haven't identified who in our party died yet, because I see Castor and Finnick among the photos. Soon every passerby will be as dangerous as a Peacekeeper. "Cressida?"

"There's one place. It's not ideal. But we can try it," she says.

We follow her a few more blocks and turn through a gate into what looks like a private residence. It's some kind of shortcut, though, because after walking through a manicured garden, we come out of another gate onto a small back street that connects two main avenues. There are a few poky stores--one that buys used goods, another that sells fake jewelry. Only a couple of people are around, and they pay no attention to us.

Cressida begins to babble in a high-pitched voice about fur undergarments, how essential they are during the cold months. "Wait until you see the prices! Believe me, it's half what you pay on the avenues!"

We stop before a grimy storefront filled with mannequins in furry underwear. The place doesn't even look open, but Cressida pushes through the front door, setting off a dissonant chiming. Inside the dim, narrow shop lined with racks of merchandise, the smell of pelts fills my nose. Business must be slow, since we're the only customers.

Cressida heads straight for a hunched figure sitting in the back. I follow, trailing my fingers through the soft garments as we go.

Behind a counter sits the strangest person I've ever seen. She's an extreme example of surgical enhancement gone wrong, for surely not even in the Capitol could they find this face attractive. The skin has been pulled back tightly and tattooed with black and gold stripes. The nose has been flattened until it barely exists.

I've seen cat whiskers on people in the Capitol before, but none so long. The result is a grotesque, semi-feline mask, which now squints at us distrustfully.

Cressida takes off her wig, revealing her vines. "Tigris," she says. "We need help. Plutarch said you could be trusted," adds Cressida.

No, Tigris's shop is not ideal, but it's all we have at the moment. If she'll even help us. She's peering between an old television on her counter and us, as if trying to place us.

To help her, Katniss pulls down her scarf, removes her wig, and steps closer so that the light of the screen falls on her face.

Tigris gives a low growl. She slinks down off her stool and disappears behind a rack of fur-lined leggings. There's a sound of sliding, and then her hand emerges and waves us forward.

I push around the furs and find Tigris has slid back a panel at the base of the wall. Behind it seems to be the top of a steep stone stairway. She gestures for us to enter.

"You were a stylist for the Games. Did Snow ban you from the Games?" Katniss asks. She just stares back at her. Somewhere her tiger tail flicks with displeasure. "Because I'm going to kill him, you know." Her mouth spreads into a smile.

I crawl through the space. About halfway down the steps, my face runs into a hanging chain and I pull it, illuminating the hideout with a flickering fluorescent bulb. It's a small cellar with no doors or windows. Shallow and wide. Probably just a strip between two real basements. A place whose existence could go unnoticed unless you had a very keen eye for dimensions. It's cold and dank, with piles of pelts that I'm guessing haven't seen the light of day in years.

Unless Tigris gives us up, I don't believe anyone will find us here. I hear the underwear rack being adjusted on squeaky wheels. Tigris padding back to her stool. We have been swallowed up by her store.  
Just in time, too, because Louis looks on the verge of collapse. We make a bed of pelts, strip off his layers of weapons, and help him onto his back.

At the end of the cellar, there's a faucet about a foot from the floor with a drain under it. I turn the tap and, after much sputtering and a lot of rust, clear water begins to flow.

We clean Louis's neck wound and I realize bandages won't be enough. He's going to need a few stitches. There's a needle and sterile thread in the first-aid supplies, but what we lack is a healer. It crosses my mind to enlist Tigris. As a stylist, she must know how to work a needle. But that would leave no one manning the shop, and she's doing enough already. I grit my teeth, and put in a row of jagged sutures. It's not pretty but it's functional. I smear it with medicine and wrap it up. Give him some painkillers. "Are you cold," I asks him.

Cressida and Niall make fur nests for each of us. I give one to Louis and he takes my hand in his.

"It's funny, isn't it." He keep his eyes on my hand, trailing idle patterns because it was easier than looking at my expression. "I used to be the one who protected you. Now the roles have changed. I promised your mother that I was going to protect you and I failed."

"You're still protecting me." I say and look down at my lap. "I don't want to fight anymore."

"Nobody does, my love. But we will - and, if we do it right, then our children won't have to." Louis's gaze was intent, and one of his finger tease over my lip, feather-light. "Would you like me to say it now?"

I look at him in confusion. "I love you, Harry. I'm in love with you and everytime I kiss you I fall a little more for you."

I smile with tears in my eyes. He press comforting kisses to my tear-stained cheeks.

We both pull each other into a kiss, whispering "I love you" between kisses.

It leaves a tingly feeling and makes me want more. Kissing him makes me realize that this is the person I love and I smile because I know that the he loves me back just as much.

We pull back, both breathless from the kiss.

"I love you too." I whisper back.


	26. Trapped in the cellar

Cressida and Niall have made beds for us, arranged our food and medical supplies, I ask what Katniss wants to do about setting up a guard.

"I don't honestly think there's any point in setting up a guard. Let's just try to get some sleep," She says.

We nod numbly, and we all burrow into our pelts. I surrender to the soft, musty fur and oblivion.

When we wake up, Katniss onfess. How she lied about the mission, how she jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge because she wants to kill Snow herself. There's a long silence after she finish. Then Louis says, "Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow."

"Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?" Cressida asks. "Of course she didn't. But she trusted Liam, and he'd clearly wanted you to go on."

"I never even told Liam what I planned to do," She says.

"You told everyone in Command!" Loui says. "It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.'"

"But not like this," She says. "It's been a complete disaster."

"I think it would be considered a highly successful mission," says Louis. "We've infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol's defenses can be breached. We've managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol's news. We've thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us."

"Trust me, Plutarch's thrilled," Cressida adds.

"That's because Plutarch doesn't care who dies," She says. "Not as long as his Games are a success." Cressida, Louis and I go round and round trying to convince her. Niall nods at their words to back them up.  
Only Peeta doesn't offer an opinion.

"What do you think, Peeta?" She finally asks him.

"I think...you still have no idea. The effect you can have." He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes  
himself to a sitting position. "None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow."

She pulls the paper map from a pocket in her uniform and spreads it out on the floor with new resolve. "Where are we, Cressida?" They start to check the map.

"What we need is to get him out in the open," Louis says to me. "Then one of us could pick him off."

"Does he ever appear in public anymore?" asks Peeta.

"I don't think so," says Cressida. "At least in all the recent speeches I've seen, he's been in the mansion.  
Even before the rebels got here. I imagine he became more vigilant after Finnick aired his crimes."

It would have to be something bordering on miraculous to lure him out. Something like...

"I bet he'd come out for me," She says. "If I were captured. He'd want that as public as possible. He'd want my execution on his front steps." She lets this sink in. "Then Louis could shoot him from the audience."

"No, I'm not letting him go. It's too dangerous." I say.

"No." Peeta shakes his head. "There are too many alternative endings to that plan. Snow might decide to keep you and torture information out of you. Or have you executed publicly without being present. Or kill you inside the mansion and display your body out front."

"Louis?" She says.

"It seems like an extreme solution to jump to immediately," he says. "Maybe if all else fails. Let's keep thinking."

In the quiet that follows, we hear Tigris's soft footfall overhead. It must be closing time. She's locking up, fastening the shutters maybe. A few minutes later, the panel at the top of the stairs slides open.

"Come up," says a gravelly voice. "I have some food for you." It's the first time she's talked since we arrived. Whether it's natural or from years of practice, I don't know, but there's something in her manner of speaking that suggests a cat's purr.

As we climb the stairs, Cressida asks, "Did you contact Plutarch, Tigris?"

"No way to." Tigris shrugs. "He'll figure out you're in a safe house. Don't worry."

In the shop, the counter holds some stale hunks of bread, a wedge of moldy cheese, and half a bottle of  
mustard. It reminds me that not everyone in the Capitol has full stomachs these days. I feel obliged to tell Tigris about our remaining food supplies, but she waves my objections away. "I eat next to nothing," she says. "And then, only raw meat." This seems a little too in character, but I don't question it. I just scrape the mold off the cheese and divide up the food among the rest of us.

While we eat, we watch the latest Capitol news coverage. The government has the rebel survivors narrowed down to the five of us. Huge bounties are offered for information leading to our capture. They emphasize how dangerous we are. Show us exchanging gunfire with the Peacekeepers, although not the mutts ripping off their heads. Do a tragic tribute to the woman lying where we left her, with my arrow still in her heart. Someone has redone her makeup for the cameras.

The rebels let the Capitol broadcast run on uninterrupted. "Have the rebels made a statement today?" I ask Tigris. She shakes her head.

Katniss speaks up, "I doubt Coin knows what to do with me now that I'm still alive."

"No one knows what to do with you, girlie."

Then she makes us take a pair of the fur leggings even though we can't pay her for them. It's the kind of gift you have to accept. And anyway, it's cold in that cellar.

Downstairs after supper, we continue to rack our brains for a plan. Nothing good comes up, but we do agree that we can no longer go out as a group of five and that we should try to infiltrate the president's mansion.

We change bandages, handcuff Peeta back to his support, and settle down to sleep.

During a predawn breakfast of liver pate and fig cookies, we gather around Tigris's television for one of Beetee's break-ins. There's been a new development in the war. Apparently inspired by the black wave, some enterprising rebel commander came up with the idea of confiscating people's abandoned automobiles and sending them unmanned down the streets. The cars don't trigger every pod, but they certainly get the majority.

At around four in the morning, the rebels began carving three separate paths--simply referred to as the A, B, and C lines--to the Capitol's heart. As a result, they've secured block after block with very few casualties.

"This can't last," says Louis. "In fact I'm surprised they've kept it going so long. The Capitol will adjust by deactivating specific pods and then manually triggering them when their targets come in range."

Almost within minutes of his prediction, we see this very thing happen on-screen. A squad sends a car down a block, setting off four pods. All seems well. Three scouts follow and make it safely to the end of the street. But when a group of twenty rebel soldiers follow them, they're blown to bits by a row of potted rosebushes in front of a flower shop.

"I bet it's killing Plutarch not to be in the control room on this one," says Peeta.

Beetee gives the broadcast back to the Capitol, where a grim-faced reporter announces the blocks that civilians are to evacuate.

I hear scuffling out on the street, move to the windows, and peek out a crack in the shutters. In the early morning light, I see a bizarre spectacle. Refugees from the now occupied blocks are streaming toward the Capitol's center. The most panicked are wearing nothing but nightgowns and slippers, while the more prepared are heavily bundled in layers of clothes. They carry everything from lapdogs to jewelry boxes to potted plants.

One man in a fluffy robe holds only an overripe banana. Confused, sleepy children stumble along after their parents, most either too stunned or too baffled to cry.

Bits of them flash by my line of vision. A pair of wide brown eyes. An arm clutching a favorite doll. A pair of bare feet, bluish in the cold, catching on the uneven paving stones of the alley. Seeing them reminds me of the children of 12 who died fleeing the firebombs. I leave the window.

Tigris offers to be our spy for the day since she's the only one of us without a bounty on her head. After securing us downstairs, she goes out into the Capitol to pick up any helpful information.

By late afternoon, we're beginning to get uneasy about Tigris's long absence. Talk turns to the possibilities that she has been apprehended and arrested, turned us in voluntarily, or simply been injured in the wave of refugees. But around six o'clock we hear her return.

There's some shuffling around upstairs, then she opens the panel.

The wonderful smell of frying meat fills the air. Tigris has prepared us a hash of chopped ham and potatoes. It's the first hot food we've had in days, and as I wait for her to fill my plate, I'm in danger of actually drooling.

As I chew, I try to pay attention to Tigris telling us how she acquired it, but the main thing I absorb is that fur underwear is a valuable trading item at the moment. Especially for people who left their homes underdressed.

Many are still out on the street, trying to find shelter for the night. Those who live in the choice apartments of the inner city have not flung open their doors to house the displaced. On the contrary, most of them bolted their locks, drew their shutters, and pretended to be out.

Now the City Circle's packed with refugees, and the Peacekeepers are going door to door, breaking into places if they have to, to assign houseguests.

On the television, we watch a terse Head Peacekeeper lay out specific rules regarding how many people per square foot each resident will be expected to take in. He reminds the citizens of the Capitol that temperatures will drop well below freezing tonight and warns them that their president expects them to be not only willing but enthusiastic hosts in this time of crisis.

Then they show some very staged-looking shots of concerned citizens welcoming grateful refugees into their homes. The Head Peacekeeper says the president himself has ordered part of his mansion readied to receive citizens tomorrow. He adds that shopkeepers should also be prepared to lend their floor space if requested.

"Tigris, that could be you," says Peeta.

We realize he's right. That even this narrow hallway of a shop could be appropriated as the numbers swell. Then we'll be truly trapped in the cellar, in constant danger of discovery. How many days do we have? One? Maybe two?

The Head Peacekeeper comes back with more instructions for the population. It seems that this evening there was an unfortunate incident where a crowd beat to death a young man who resembled Peeta.

Henceforth, all rebel sightings are to be reported immediately to authorities, who will deal with the identification and arrest of the suspect.

They show a photo of the victim. Apart from some obviously bleached curls, he looks about as much like Peeta as I do.

"People have gone wild," I murmur.

We watch a brief rebel update in which we learn that several more blocks have been taken today. Katniss makes note of the intersections on the map and studies it. "Line C is only four blocks from here," She announces.

"Let me wash the dishes." I say

"I'll give you a hand." Louis collects the plates.

In the cramped kitchen at the back of Tigris's shop, I fill the sink with hot water and suds. "Do you think it's true?" I ask. "That Snow will let refugees into the mansion?"

"I think he has to now, at least for the cameras," says Louis.

"I'm leaving in the morning. I can't stay here and wait until the war is over. " I say.

"I'm going with you," Louis says.

"What should we do with the others?"

"Niall, Katniss and Cressida could be useful. They're good guides," I say. Niall and Cressida aren't actually the  
problem. "But Peeta's too...

"Unpredictable," finishes Louis. "Do you think he'd still let us leave him behind?"

"We can make the argument that he'll endanger us and he won't be alone. He'll be with Katniss," I say.

"He might stay here, if we're convincing."

Peeta's fairly rational about our suggestion. He readily agrees that his company could put the other four of us at risk. I'm thinking this may all work out, that he can just sit out the war in Tigris's cellar, when he announces he's going out on his own.

"To do what?" I ask.

"I'm not sure exactly. The one thing that I might still be useful at is causing a diversion. You saw what happened to that man who looked like me," he says.

"What if you...lose control?" I say.

"You mean...go mutt? Well, if I feel that coming on, I'll try to get back here," he assures us.  
"And if Snow gets you again?" asks Louis. "You don't even have a gun."

"I'll just have to take my chances," says Peeta. "Like the rest of you."

The two exchange a long look, and  
then Louis reaches into his breast pocket. He places his nightlock tablet in Peeta's hand. Peeta lets it lie on his open palm, neither rejecting nor accepting it. "What about you?"

"Don't worry. Beetee showed me how to detonate my explosive arrows by hand. If that fails, I've got my knife. And I'll have Harry and Katniss," says Louis with a smile. "Harry won't give them the satisfaction of taking me alive."

"Take it, Peeta," Katniss says in a strained voice. She reachs out and closes his fingers over the pill. "No one will be there to help you."

We spend a fitful night, woken by one another's nightmares, minds buzzing with the next day's plans. I'm relieved when five o'clock rolls around and we can begin whatever this day holds for us.

We eat a mishmash of our remaining food--canned peaches, crackers, and snails--leaving one can of salmon for Tigris as meager thanks for all she's done.

The gesture seems to touch her in some way. Her face contorts in an odd expression and she flies into action. She spends the next hour remaking the five of us. She redresses us so regular clothes hide our uniforms before we even don our coats and cloaks. Covers our military boots with some sort of furry slippers. Secures our wigs with pins. Cleans off the garish remains of the paint we so hastily applied to our faces and makes us up again. Drapes our outerwear to conceal our weapons. Then gives us handbags and bundles of knickknacks to carry. In the end, we look exactly like the refugees fleeing the rebels.

"Never underestimate the power of a brilliant stylist," says Peeta.

It's hard to tell, but I think Tigris might actually blush under her stripes.

There are no helpful updates on the television, but the alley seems as thick with refugees as the previous morning.

Our plan is to slip into the crowd in three groups. First Cressida and Niall, who will act as guides while keeping a safe lead on us. Then Louis, Katniss and myself, who intend to position ourselves among the refugees assigned to the mansion today. Then Peeta, who will trail behind us, ready to create a disturbance as needed.

Tigris watches through the shutters for the right moment, unbolts the door, and nods to Cressida and Niall.

"Take care," Cressida says, and they are gone.

We'll be following in a minute. Katniss gets out the key, unlocks Peeta's cuffs, and stuffs them in her pocket. He rubs his wrists. Flexes them.

"Listen," She says. "Don't do anything foolish."

"No. It's last-resort stuff. Completely," he says.

"All right, then." She says.

"It's time," says Tigris.

I kiss her cheek, fasten my red hooded cloak, pull my scarf up over my nose, and follow Louis out into the frigid air.


	27. Silver parachutes

Sharp, icy snowflakes bite my exposed skin. The rising sun's trying to break through the gloom without much success. There's enough light to see the bundled forms closest to you and little more. Perfect conditions, really, except that I can't locate Cressida and Niall.

We drop our heads and shuffle along with the refugees. I can hear what I missed peeking through the shutters yesterday. Crying, moaning, labored breathing. And, not too far away, gunfire.

"Where are we going, Uncle?" a shivering little boy asks a man weighed down with a small safe.

"To the president's mansion. They'll assign us a new place to live," puffs the man.

We turn off the alley and spill out onto one of the main avenues. "Stay to the right!" a voice orders, and I see the Peacekeepers interspersed throughout the crowd, directing the flow of human traffic. Scared faces peer out of the plate-glass windows of the shops, which are already becoming overrun with refugees.

At this rate, Tigris may have new houseguests by lunch. It was good for everybody that we got out when we did.

It's brighter now, even with the snow picking up. I catch sight of Cressida and Niall about thirty yards ahead of us, plodding along with the crowd. I've caught the eye of an inquisitive-looking little girl in a lemon yellow coat.

I nudge Louis and slow my pace ever so slightly, to allow a wall of people to form between us. "We might need to split up," I say under my breath. "There's a girl--"

Gunfire rips through the crowd, and several people near me slump to the ground. Screams pierce the air as a second round mows down another group behind us.

Louis, Katniss and I drop to the street, scuttle the ten yards to the shops, and take cover behind a display of spike-heeled boots outside a shoe seller's.

A row of feathery footwear blocks Louis's view. "Who is it? Can you see?" he asks us.

What I can see, between alternating pairs of lavender and mint green leather boots, is a street full of bodies. The little girl who was watching me kneels beside a motionless woman, screeching and trying to rouse her. Another wave of bullets slices across the chest of her yellow coat, staining it with red, knocking the girl onto her back. For a moment, looking at her tiny crumpled form, I lose my ability to form words. Louis prods me with his elbow. "Harry?"

"They're shooting from the roof above us," Katniss tells us. I watch a few more rounds, see the white uniforms dropping into the snowy streets. "Trying to take out the Peacekeepers, but they're not exactly crack shots. It must be the rebels."

I don't feel a rush of joy, although theoretically my allies have broken through. I am transfixed by that lemon yellow coat.

"If we start shooting, that's it," Louis says. "The whole world will know it's us."

It's true. We're armed only with our fabulous bows. To release an arrow would be like announcing to both sides that we're here.

"No," She says forcefully. "We've got to get to Snow."

"Then we better start moving before the whole block goes up," says Louis. Hugging the wall, we continue along the street. Only the wall is mostly shopwindows. A pattern of sweaty palms and gaping faces presses against the glass.

I yank my scarf up higher over my cheekbones as we dart between outdoor displays. Behind a rack of framed photos of Snow, we encounter a wounded Peacekeeper propped against a strip of brick wall. He asks us for help.

Katniss knees him in the side of the head and takes his gun. At the intersection, she shoots two second Peacekeeper and we all have firearms.

"So who are we supposed to be now?" I ask.

"Desperate citizens of the Capitol," says Katniss. "The Peacekeepers will think we're on their side, and hopefully the rebels have more interesting targets."

I'm mulling over the wisdom of this latest role as we sprint across the intersection, but by the time we reach the next block, it no longer matters who we are. Who anyone is. Because no one is looking at faces.

The rebels are here, all right. Pouring onto the avenue, taking cover in doorways, behind vehicles, guns blazing, hoarse voices shouting commands as they prepare to meet an army of Peacekeepers marching toward us.

Caught in the cross fire are the refugees, unarmed, disoriented, many wounded.

A pod's activated ahead of us, releasing a gush of steam that parboils everyone in its path, leaving the victims intestine-pink and very dead. After that, what little sense of order there was unravels. As the remaining curlicues of steam intertwine with the snow, visibility extends just to the end of my barrel.

Peacekeeper, rebel, citizen, who knows? Everything that moves is a target. People shoot reflexively, and I'm no exception. Heart pounding, adrenaline burning through me, everyone is my enemy. Except Louis. My love, the one and only person who has my heart.

There's nothing to do but move forward, killing whoever comes into our path. Screaming people, bleeding people, dead people everywhere. As we reach the next corner, the entire block ahead of us lights up with a rich purple glow. We backpedal, hunker down in a stairwell, and squint into the light. Something's happening to those illuminated by it. They're assaulted by...what? A sound? A wave? A laser?

Weapons fall from their hands, fingers clutch their faces, as blood sprays from all visible orifices--eyes, noses, mouths, ears. In less than a minute, everyone's dead and the glow vanishes.

I grit my teeth and run, leaping over the bodies, feet slipping in the gore. The wind whips the snow into blinding swirls but doesn't block out the sound of another wave of boots headed our way.

"Get down!" I hiss at them. We drop where we are. My face lands in a still-warm pool of someone's blood, but I play dead, remain motionless as the boots march over us. Some avoid the bodies. Others grind into my hand, my back, kick my head in passing. As the boots recede, I open my eyes and Katniss nods to us.

On the next block, we encounter more terrified refugees, but few soldiers. Just when it seems we might have caught a break, there's a cracking sound, like an egg hitting the side of a bowl but magnified a thousand times. We stop, look around for the pod. There's nothing. Then I feel the tips of my boots beginning to tilt ever so slightly.

"Run!" I cry. There's no time to explain, but in a few seconds the nature of the pod becomes clear to everyone. A seam has opened up down the center of the block. The two sides of the tiled street are folding down like flaps, slowly emptying the people into whatever lies beneath. I'm torn between making a beeline for the next intersection and trying to get to the doors that line the street and break my way into a building. As a result, I end up moving at a slight diagonal. As the flap continues to drop, I find my feet scrambling, harder and harder, to find purchase on the slippery tiles. It's like running along the side of an icy hill that gets steeper at every step. Both of my destinations--the intersection and the buildings--are a few feet away when I feel the flap going. There's nothing to do but use my last seconds of connection to the tiles to push off for the intersection. As my hands latch on to the side, I realize the flaps have swung straight down. My feet dangle in the air, no foothold anywhere. From fifty feet below, a vile stench hits my nose, like rotted corpses in the summer heat. Black forms crawl around in the shadows, silencing whoever survives the fall.

A strangled cry comes from my throat. No one is coming to help me. I'm losing my grip on the icy ledge, when Katniss helps me and drag me up to street level. Panting, trembling, I crawl out and wrap my arm around a lamppost for an anchor, although the ground's perfectly flat.

"Louis?" I call into the abyss, heedless of being recognized. "Louis?"

"Over here!" I look in bewilderment to my left. The flap held up everything to the very base of the buildings. A dozen or so people made it that far and now hang from whatever provides a handhold. Doorknobs, knockers, mail slots. Three doors down from me, Louis clings to the decorative iron grating around an apartment door. He could easily get inside if it was open. But despite repeated kicks to the door, no one comes to his aid.

"Cover yourself!" Katniss lifts her gun. He turns away and She drills the lock until the door flies inward. Louis swings into the doorway, landing in a heap on the floor. For a moment, I experience the elation of his rescue. Then the white- gloved hands clamp down on him.

Louis meets my eyes, mouths something at me I can't make out. I don't know what to do. I can't leave him, but I can't reach him either. His lips move again. I shake my head to indicate my confusion. At any minute, they'll realize who they've captured. The Peacekeepers are hauling him inside now. "Go!" I hear him yell.

Katniss and I turn and run away from the pod. All alone now. Louis a prisoner. Cressida and Niall could be dead ten times over. And Peeta? I haven't laid eyes on him since we left Tigris's.

I fall into a doorway, tears stinging my eyes. Shoot me. That's what he was mouthing. I was supposed to shoot him! That was my job. That was our unspoken promise, all of us, to one another. And I didn't do it and now the Capitol will kill him or torture him or hijack him or--the cracks begin opening inside me, threatening to break me into pieces. I have only one hope. That the Capitol falls, lays down its arms, and gives up its prisoners before they hurt Louis. But I can't see that happening while Snow's alive.

A pair of Peacekeepers runs by, barely glancing at the whimpering Capitol boy huddled in a doorway. I choke down my tears, wipe the existing ones off my face before they can freeze, and pull myself back together. Okay, I'm still an anonymous refugee. I look around and can't see Katniss. Where is she? Did she left me here?

I remove my cloak and turn it inside out, letting the black lining show instead of the red exterior. Arrange the hood so it conceals my face. Grasping my gun close to my chest, I survey the block. There's only a handful of dazed- looking stragglers. I trail close behind a pair of old men who take no notice of me. No one will expect me to be with old men.

When we reach the end of the next intersection, they stop and I almost bump into them. It's the City Circle. Across the wide expanse ringed by grand buildings sits the president's mansion.

The Circle's full of people milling around, wailing, or just sitting and letting the snow pile up around them. I fit right in. I begin to weave my way across to the mansion, tripping over abandoned treasures and snow-frosted limbs.

About halfway there, I become aware of the concrete barricade. It's about four feet high and extends in a large rectangle in front of the mansion. You would think it would be empty, but it's packed with refugees.

Maybe this is the group that's been chosen to be sheltered at the mansion? But as I draw closer, I notice something else. Everyone inside the barricade is a child. Toddlers to teenagers. Scared and frostbitten. Huddled in groups or rocking numbly on the ground. They aren't being led into the mansion.   
They're penned in, guarded on all sides by Peacekeepers.

I know immediately it's not for their protection. If the Capitol wanted to safeguard them, they'd be down in a bunker somewhere. This is for Snow's protection. The children form his human shield.

There's a commotion and the crowd surges to the left. I'm caught up by larger bodies, borne sideways, carried off course. I hear shouts of "The rebels! The rebels!" and know they must've broken through.

The momentum slams me into a flagpole and I cling to it. Using the rope that hangs from the top, I pull myself up out of the crush of bodies. Yes, I can see the rebel army pouring into the Circle, driving the refugees back onto the avenues. I scan the area for the pods that will surely be detonating. But that doesn't happen.

This is what happens:  
A hovercraft marked with the Capitol's seal materializes directly over the barricaded children. Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them. Even in this chaos, the children know what silver parachutes contain. Food. Medicine. Gifts. They eagerly scoop them up, frozen fingers struggling with the strings. The hovercraft vanishes, five seconds pass, and then about twenty parachutes simultaneously explode.

A wail rises from the crowd. The snow's red and littered with undersized body parts. Many of the children die immediately, but others lie in agony on the ground. Some stagger around mutely, staring at the remaining silver parachutes in their hands, as if they still might have something precious inside.

I can tell the Peacekeepers didn't know this was coming by the way they are yanking away the barricades, making a path to the children. Another flock of white uniforms sweeps into the opening. But these aren't Peacekeepers. They're medics. Rebel medics. I'd know the uniforms anywhere. They swarm in among the children, wielding medical kits.

I am pushing through the crowd, trying to get a better view. I'm almost there, almost to the barricade, when the rest of the parachutes go off.


	28. I'm a fire mutt

I am on fire. The balls of flame that erupted from the parachutes shot over the barricades, through the snowy air, and landed in the crowd. I was just turning away when one caught me, ran its tongue up the back of my body, and transformed me into something new. A creature as unquenchable as the sun.

No sight, no sound, no feeling except the unrelenting burning of flesh. Perhaps there are periods of unconsciousness, but what can it matter if I can't find refuge in them?

Alive, but as good as dead. So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome. But when I finally have a visitor, it's sweet. Morphling. Coursing through my veins, easing the pain, lightening my body so that it rises back toward the air and rests again on the foam.  
Foam. I really am floating on foam. I can feel it beneath the tips of my fingers, cradling parts of my naked body. There's much pain but there's also something like reality. The sandpaper of my throat.

The sound of my mother's voice. Gemma's hand in my hair. Gradually, I'm forced to accept who I am. A badly burned boy . With no fire.

In the dazzling white Capitol hospital, the doctors work their magic on me. Draping my rawness in new sheets of skin. Coaxing the cells into thinking they are my own. Manipulating my body parts, bending and stretching the limbs to assure a good fit. I hear over and over again how lucky I am.

My eyes were spared. Most of my face was spared. My lungs are responding to treatment. I will be as good as new.

When my tender skin has toughened enough to withstand the pressure of sheets, more visitors arrive. The morphling opens the door to the dead and alive alike.

One day I awake to expectations and know I will not be allowed to live in my dreamland. I must take food by mouth. Move my own muscles. Make my way to the bathroom.

The doctors' puzzlement grows over why I'm unable to speak. Many tests are done, and while there's damage to my vocal cords, it doesn't account for it. Finally, Dr. Aurelius, a head doctor, comes up with the theory that I've become a mental, rather than physical, Avox.

That my silence has been brought on by trauma. Although he's presented with a hundred proposed remedies, he tells them to leave me alone.

I don't ask about anyone or anything, but people bring me a steady stream of information. On the war: The Capitol fell the day the parachutes went off, President Coin leads Panem now, and troops have been sent out to put down the small remaining pockets of Capitol resistance.

On President Snow: He's being held prisoner, awaiting trial and most certain execution. On my assassination team: Cressida and Niall have been sent out into the districts to cover the wreckage of the war. Peeta's still in the burn unit. He made it to the City Circle after all. Katniss is as damaged as me and her sister died. Nobody give me news about Louis.

I wish he was dead. I wish they were all dead and we were, too.

Eventually, I'm released from the hospital and given a room in the president's mansion to share with my mother and sister. They check on me, make sure I'm eating and using my medicines. It's not an easy job.

I take to my old habits from when I was a kid. Wandering unauthorized through the mansion. Into bedrooms and offices, ballrooms and baths. Seeking strange little hiding spaces. A closet of furs. A cabinet in the library. A long-forgotten bathtub in a room of discarded furniture. My places are dim and quiet and impossible to find.

I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely. Wrapped in silence, I slide my bracelet that reads mentally disoriented around and around my wrist.

My name is Harry Styles. I am sixteen years old. My home is District 5. We brought down the Capitol. President Snow hates us. He killed Finnick, Zayn, Jackson, Leeg One, Leeg Two, Castor, Mitchell, Holmes and Liam. Now Katniss will kill him. And then the Hunger Games will be over....

Periodically, I find myself back in my room, unsure whether I was driven by a need for morphling or if Gemma ferreted me out. I eat the food, take the medicine, and am required to bathe.

It's not the water I mind, but the mirror that reflects my naked fire-mutt body. The skin grafts still retain a newborn-baby pinkness. The skin deemed damaged but salvageable looks red, hot, and melted in places. Patches of my former self gleam white and pale. I'm like a bizarre patchwork quilt of skin. Parts of my hair were singed off completely; the rest has been chopped off at odd lengths.

The sight of my body brings back the memory of the pain. And why I was in pain. And what happened just before the pain started.

Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.

Dr. Aurelius shows up sometimes. I like him because he doesn't say stupid things like how I'm totally safe, or that he knows I can't see it but I'll be happy again one day, or even that things will be better in Panem now. He just asks if I feel like talking, and when I don't answer, he falls asleep in his chair. In fact, I think his visits are largely motivated by his need for a nap. The arrangement works for both of us.

"Where is he? What are they doing to him?" I'm gasping for air between sobs, but I manage one phrase. "It's my fault!" And then I cross some line into hysteria. My finger catches the inside of my bracelet, twisting it like a tourniquet, hurting my wrist. I'm hoping the pain will help me hang on to reality the way it did for Peeta with his handcuffs. I must hang on. I must know where he is.

I know that Katniss is somewhere in this house. I scramble off the tiles, out the door, and across the hall to her room. When there's no response to my knock, I push inside. She's sitting beside Haymitch.

"Oh. You," he says.

"Haymitch," I begin.

"Listen to that. The Baby found his voice." He laughs.

"Harry, are you okay?" Katniss asks. Her skin is pale and she has dark circles under her eyes.

"I need your help," I say.

Haymitch belches, filling the air with white liquor fumes. "What is it, sweetheart? More boy trouble?"

I don't know why, but this hurts me in a way. It must show on my face, because even in his drunken state, he tries to take it back. "Okay, not funny." I'm already at the door. "Not funny! Come back!"

"Harry, wait! What is it?" Katniss says, stopping me from leaving.

"I can't stay here without him." I cry.

"Harry, he's probably still alive." She says.

"She's right, sweatheart. Louis knows how to take care of himself. He's probably just in the hospital." Haymitch says.

I sit on the floor in front of them.  
"Why don't they give me news about him?" I ask.

"I don't know. They're doing the same with Gale, but even if he were beside me, I wouldn't talk to him? What could I say, without implying that it was his bomb that killed Prim?" Katniss says.

"You think it was his bomb?" I ask.

"There are two possibilities. First, I believe, that the Capitol sent in that hovercraft, dropped the parachutes, and sacrificed its children's lives, knowing the recently arrived rebels would go to their aid. There's evidence to support this. The Capitol's seal on the hovercraft, the lack of any attempt to blow the enemy out of the sky, and their long history of using children as pawns in their battle against the districts. Then there's the other one. That a Capitol hovercraft manned by rebels bombed the children to bring a speedy end to the war. I know that Gale was working on these kind of bomb." Katniss says.

"If this was the case, why didn't the Capitol fire on the enemy?" I ask.

"I don't know, maybe the element of surprise throw them or they had no defenses left." Katniss says.

"Children are precious to 13, or so it has always seemed." Says Haymitch.

"Why would they do it knowing their own medics would likely respond and be taken out by the second blast?" I ask.

Katniss clench her fists. "They wouldn't. They couldn't. Snow's lying. Manipulating me as he always has. Hoping to turn me against the rebels and possibly destroy them." She says. "But those double-exploding bombs makes me think that it from the rebels. It's not that the Capitol couldn't have the same weapon, it's just that I'm sure the rebels did. Gale and Beetee's brainchild. Then there's the fact that Snow made no escape attempt, when I know him to be the consummate survivor. It seems hard to believe he didn't have a retreat somewhere, some bunker stocked with provisions where he could live out the rest of his snaky little life. And finally, there's his assessment of Coin. What's irrefutable is that she's done exactly what he said. Let the Capitol and the districts run one another into the ground and then sauntered in to take power. Even if that was her plan, it doesn't mean she dropped those parachutes. Victory was already in her grasp. Everything was in her grasp."

Gemma waits with a handful of pills and a tray of food that I don't have the stomach for. She makes a feeble attempt to get me to talk again but, seeing it's pointless, sends me to a bath someone has drawn.

The tub's deep, with three steps to the bottom. I ease down into the warm water and sit, up to my neck in suds, hoping the medicines kick in soon.

I rise and reach for a towel to smother it, when there's a tentative knock and the bathroom door opens, revealing three familiar faces, my old prep team from the Games. Elvie, Isaria and Lyn.

They try to smile at me, but even Isaria can't conceal her shock at my ravaged mutt body.

"Surprise!" Elvie squeaks, and then bursts into tears.

I'm puzzling over their reappearance when I realize that this must be it, the day of the execution. They've come to prep me for the cameras. Remake me to Beauty Base Zero. No wonder Elvie's crying. It's an impossible task.

They can barely touch my patchwork of skin for fear of hurting me, so I rinse and dry off myself.

I tell them I hardly notice the pain anymore, but Lyn still winces as he drapes a robe around me. In the bedroom, I find another surprise. Sitting upright in a chair.

Polished from her metallic green wig to her patent leather high heels, gripping a clipboard. Remarkably unchanged except for the vacant look in her eyes. Kinnia, District 5's escort, fresh from the Capitol.

"Kinnia," I say.

"Hello, Harry." She stands and kisses me on the cheek as if nothing has occurred since our last meeting, the night before the Quarter Quell. "Well, it looks like we've got another big, big, big day ahead of us. So why don't you start your prep and I'll just pop over and check on the arrangements."

"Okay," I say to her back.

"They say Plutarch and Haymitch had a hard time keeping her alive," comments Isaria under her breath. "She was imprisoned after your escape, so that helps."

It's quite a stretch. Kinnia Malone, rebel. But I don't want Coin killing her, so I make a mental note to present her that way if asked.

"Katniss' prep team and us are the only prep team still alive. And all the stylists from the Quarter Quell are dead," says Isaria.

Suddenly, I'm thinking about Darius, my mentor. "And Darius?" I ask.

"He is, too." Isaria answers.

She doesn't say who specifically killed them. I'm beginning to wonder if it matters. She gingerly takes one of my scarred hands and holds it out for inspection.

Lyn performs some beauty miracle on my hair, managing to even out the front while getting some of the longer locks to hide the bald spots in the back. My face, since it was spared from the flames, presents no more than the usual challenges.

Once I'm dress, the only scars visible are on my neck, forearms, and hands. Elvie secures my airplane necklace and we step back to look in the mirror. I can't believe how normal they've made me look on the outside when inwardly I'm such a wasteland.

"You and the victors still alive will walk behind Katniss. She only has one ordinary arrow. It's supposed to be symbolic. Her firing the last shot of the war." Elvie tells me.

"What if she miss?" I say. "Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to her? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?"

"She won't miss." Isaria says.

Kinnia comes in to usher me to some kind of meeting.

I look at my prep team, "Come on," I tell them. "We've got an audience waiting."

I'm expecting a production meeting in which Plutarch instructs us where to stand and gives Katniss her cue for shooting Snow. Instead, I find myself sent into a room where six people sit around a table. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Annie, Katniss and Enobaria. They all wear the gray rebel uniforms from 13. No one looks particularly well.

"What's this?" I say.

"We're not sure," Haymitch answers. "It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors."

"We're all that's left?" I ask.

"The price of celebrity," says Beetee. "We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors  
they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol."

Johanna scowls at Enobaria. "So what's she doing here?"

"She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal," says Coin as she enters behind me. "Wherein  
Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for captured victors' immunity. Katniss has upheld her side of the bargain, and so shall we."

Enobaria smiles at Johanna. "Don't look so smug," says Johanna. "We'll kill you anyway."

"Sit down, please, Harry," says Coin, closing the door. I take a seat between Annie and Beetee. As usual, Coin gets right to the point. "I've asked you here to settle a debate.  
Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this."

Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Katniss's hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across her forehead, singeing away her brows but just missing her eyes.

"So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote," says Coin.   
"What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."

All eight of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna.

"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin.

"Are you joking?" I ask.

"No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval,  
although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us.

"Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch.

"It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may  
cast your votes."

"No!" I burst out. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!"

"Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes."

"So do I," says Enobaria, almost indifferently. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine."

"This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta says. "Annie?"

"I vote no with Harry and Peeta," she says. "So would Finnick if he were here."

"But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," Johanna reminds her.

"No," says Beetee. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No."

"We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin.

Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts' children? All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.

"I vote yes...for Prim." Katniss says.

"Haymitch, it's up to you," says Coin.

A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to.

"I'm with the Mockingjay," he says.

"Excellent. That carries the vote since I voted yes," says Coin. "Now we really must take our places for the execution."

As she passes Katniss, Katniss hold up a glass with a rose. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?"

Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games."

"Thank you," She says.

People sweep into the room, surround us. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as the Victors are guided to the front doors of the mansion.

The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony.

Then Kinnia taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position with the Victors behind our Mockingjay. As directed, we turn so they see us in profile, and wait.

When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go.

This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president's mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have her practice. He's ten yards away.

She reachs back and grasps the arrow. Positions it, aim at the rose, but she watchs his face.

He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips.

I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only a look of amusement.

The point of Katniss's arrow shifts upward. She releases the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone,  
> hope you have a lots of fun.  
> My son Louis is now 26 years old.  
> Let's all cry together!  
> I hope you like my story so far and   
> don't forget to leave a comment.   
> I love you all xxx  
> Ari


	29. My home is Louis

In the stunned reaction that follows, I'm aware of one sound. Snow's laughter. An awful gurgling cackle accompanied by an eruption of foamy blood when the coughing begins. I see him bend forward, spewing out his life.

Guards take an hold of Katniss and she starts kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever she can to free herself from this web of hands as the crowd pushes in. I follow them, telling them to let her go but a guard stops me.

Above us, on the giant screens placed around the City Circle, everyone can watch the whole thing being played out.

I return to the mansion, where I'm now on my own and slam closed the door behind me.

I limp into the shower and program in the gentlest cycle I can remember, free of any soaps and hair products, and squat under the warm spray, elbows on my knees, head in my hands and repeat to myself:

My name is Harry Styles. I am sixteen years old. I'm the Victor of the 73th Hunger Games. I survived the Quarter Quell. We brought down the Capitol.

My names is Harry Styles. I am sixteen years old. My home is district 5. No, my home is Louis. I miss my home. Where is he?

Why am I not dead? Why am I still alive when I should be dead?

When I step out on the mat, the hot air bakes my damaged skin dry.  
I put nothing on. Not even a towel to wrap around me.

Back in the room, a meal has been sent up from the mysterious kitchen with a container of my medications for dessert. I go ahead and eat the food, take the pills. My mother and sister knock on my door but I don't respond.

I curl back up on the mattress, not cold but feeling so naked.

I begin to sing. At the window, in the shower, in my sleep. Hour after hour of ballads, love songs, mountain airs. There has been very little music in my life these past few years. What's amazing is how clearly I remember them. The tunes, the lyrics.

My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid.

Days pass, weeks. I watch the snows fall on the ledge outside my window. And in all that time, mine is the only voice I hear. I don't get out of this room and let nobody enter it, except for the one who brings my meals and medications.

One afternoon, the door to my room opens. Someone crosses around the bed into my field of vision. Haymitch. "Come on. You're going home."

Home? What's he talking about? My home's gone. "I don't want to go home." I say.

"Why?" he asks.

"I'm waiting for him." I say.

"Louis is in District 12. He was still in the hospital because he took two bullets in an escape attempt and lost a lot of blood."

"Why they didn't told me?"

"I don't know." He tells me.

"Where are we going?" I ask. "Is my family coming with us? I can't leave them."

"You're going home with them. In district 5." Haymitch says.

"But I want to be with him. I have to go to District 12 with him."

Strangers appear. Rehydrate and feed me. Bathe and clothe me. One lifts me like a rag doll and carries me up to the roof, onto a hovercraft, and fastens me into a seat.

Haymitch, Katniss and Plutarch sit across from me. Gemma and my mother enter the hovercraft a few moments later. In a few minutes, we're airborne.

I've never seen Plutarch in such a good mood. He's positively glowing. "You must have a million questions!" When I don't respond, he answers them anyway.

After Katniss shot Coin, there was pandemonium. When the ruckus died down, they discovered Snow's body, still tethered to the post. Opinions differ on whether he choked to death while laughing or was crushed by the crowd. No one really cares. The election will take place after the victory tour but for now Paylor is the one in charge of Panem. Plutarch was appointed secretary of communications, which means he sets the programming for the airwaves.

The first big televised event was Katniss trial. One condition for her release is that she'll continue under the care of a doctor, although it will have to be by phone.

The truth is, no one quite knows what to do with her now that the war's over, although if another one should spring up, Plutarch's sure they could find a role for her.

Then Plutarch has a good laugh. It never seems to bother him when no one else appreciates his jokes.

He asks me if I'd like to perform on a new singing program he's launching in a few weeks. Something upbeat would be good. He'll send the crew to my house.

We land briefly in District 3 to drop off Plutarch. He's meeting with Beetee to update the technology on the broadcast system.

When we're back among the clouds, Katniss looks at Haymitch. "So why are you going back to Twelve?"

"They can't seem to find a place for me in the Capitol either," he says.

"You have to look after me, don't you? As my mentor?" He shrugs. Then she realizes what it means. "My mother's not coming back."

"No," he says. He pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket and hands it to her. "She's helping to start up a hospital in District Four. She wants you to call as soon as we get in. You know why she can't come back."

Haymitch gives my mother the key to our new home. It's a house in the Victor's Village. Since it's a separate community, the village still exist and the bombs didn't touch it. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one I was raised in.

Seven stand empty. The five houses in use belong to Haymitch, Peeta, Louis and me.

Haymitch busies himself for the rest of the trip going through every compartment on the hovercraft, finding the liquor, and stowing it in his bag. It's night when we land on the green of the Victor's Village. Half of the houses have lights in the windows, including Haymitch's, Katniss nd mine.

My mother, Gemma and I enter our new house. Someone has built a fire in our kitchen. I sit in the rocker. I am unable to move from the chair. The rest of the house looms cold and empty and dark.

I pull an old shawl over my body and watch the flames. I guess I sleep, because the next thing I know, it's morning and my mother is banging around at the stove. She makes me eggs and toast and sits there until I've eaten it all.

We don't talk much.. When I finish, I walk to Louis' home.

I knock on the door and a little girl opens it. "Louis is in the kitchen."

I walk to the Kitchen and see him, sitting on a chair around the table. He looks up from the paper that he was reading and his eyes fill with tears.

I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his neck. "You're alive."

He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. I start to cry in his arms and I feel his arms tighten

"It's okay. We're good. We're safe now. You're with me." He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in the same day.  
> Anyway, if you like it  
> don't forget to leave a comment.  
> I love you all xxx  
> Ari


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